


Drabbles 2014

by stephanericher



Series: Drabbles [3]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Multi, Threesome - F/M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-15 10:11:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 99,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1301149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of Kuroko no Basuke drabbles, originally published on tumblr in 2014. Various characters, pairings, ratings, genres, and themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. January

1\. Fooling Himself (Aomine Daiki/Midorima Shintarou) written for anon

Midorima's knee-jerk reaction would be to say that he hates Aomine. After all, Aomine was the one who started the collapse of the Teikou team. He's overly self-important and refuses to play by the rules; his shots should not work but they do, and for someone who spends hours every day making sure his form is perfect and not a millimeter off, well, to say that it's agonizingly aggravating would be a bit of an understatement. He's rude and unkempt and irresponsible and a shameless pervert. So Midorima should hate him, but somehow he can't be entirely certain.

If he hates Aomine, why does he think about him so much? Sure, he feels kind of funny inside when he thinks about him, but it's not like his anger is at odds with his desire for Aomine to just vanish from existence altogether. He hates cats, but he hates thinking about them and their claws and swishing tails and he shudders and tries to block them from his mind and that's not how he feels about Aomine at all. And part of him actually kind of looks forward to seeing him, not just in the context of a basketball game (for as frustrating as Aomine's style of play is, it's a welcome challenge) but he kind of wants to catch Aomine staring at his ass again, creates imaginary arguments with him in his mind. Maybe Miyaji's right and he's just a weirdo. Or maybe he's just overthinking things (he has to be if he's actually seriously considering Miyaji's nonsense). Either way, it's troubling to say the least.

* * *

2\. Under No Circumstances (Miyaji Kiyoshi/Takao Kazunari) written for princesswindnight

Takao Kazunari is the brattiest kouhai Miyaji Kiyoshi has ever had the misfortune of meeting. This includes all the middle school first-years who thought they were hot shit because they'd made it through sixth grade, that damn Hayama kid, Midorima, and every other horrible little shit. Takao teases him, disrespects him, laughs at him, and has the nerve to be a far better basketball player than he is. There's definitely nothing attractive about that, nope. There's nothing about Takao that he likes, not even one bit. The only reason his blood is pumping faster when he's in Takao's presence is because he's angry, okay? It has nothing at all to do with any—any  _feelings_ he might have. Other than annoyance.

And he is certainly not  _in love_  with the damn brat, okay? Kimura can make stupid little jokes (which aren't funny at all) about it all he wants, but Miyaji is not in love with him at all, under any circumstances. The way he juts out his chin isn't cute, it's…something other than cute. And Miyaji most definitely has not spent hours memorizing the way his hair frames his face. That's not what's in his mind when he falls asleep. He doesn't think about the way Takao says his name, only that his tone isn't being respectful. That is absolutely the only thing he's listening for, so Kimura should stop looking for things that aren't there. Because this is not love, it's something else, okay?

* * *

3\. Don't Insult the Cupcake (Harasawa Katsunori/Araki Masako) written for lyra-the-musician

She slams the plate down on the table.

"I made it especially for you, so you'd better like it."

He cautiously glances at the cupcake. It actually looks good—he had no idea Masako could cook. Well, he doesn't know if she can; appearances can be deceiving. He hasn't actually eaten this yet. She just doesn't seem like the type who'd make a lot of cupcakes, what with running a biker gang and training for basketball. When did she find the time to learn how to bake? (He certainly hasn't, and he's probably got more free time than she does.)

"Don't insult the cupcake, Harasawa."

"What?"

"Eat it."

She practically shoves it in his mouth. Katsunori almost chokes on it at first, but…it's really good. It's moist and rich and the frosting is creamy and he knows if Coach were here he'd get yelled at because it's probably got like 4000 calories of pure carbs.

"This is actually pretty good."

"You sound surprised," she says.

He licks his lips. "You want a taste?"

He doesn't see her fist flying toward his face until it's far too late.

* * *

4\. Half-Forgotten (Mayuzumi Chihiro/fem!Izuki Shun) written for daphneduzie

An expanse of steel grey, a silk tie brushing across her arm. She remembers books folded on the gable, dog-eared pages and creased spines, fingers longer than her own resting on the pages. She remembers the way it feels to release a basketball from her fingers; she remembers Hyuuga yelling at her for not passing to him, or for making bad jokes—but there are other things, flickering around her edges, that she can't quite place.

She retraces the route to work with her sister the first day, and the little things are oddly comforting. The sway of the train, the feel of the steps underneath her feet. She remembers her boss, her coworkers, has names and traits to go with these faces.

Things grow more familiar, and she wonders if they were there before or if they've just been there since the accident. There's a man who seems to be everywhere, in the shadows, like a more sinister Kuroko (she remembers him, of course) when he was still invisible. There's something about his eyes that spooks and intrigues her, something about the way he holds a book in his hand (he's always got a book; maybe that's the thing that reminds her the most of Kuroko).

Maybe it's a sign—that she was assigned to him by fate, and that's why she sees him everywhere. He's at the café when she goes during her lunch break, and she finds the courage to buy him an iced tea and introduce herself. He offers her a thin smile, and he seems to be waiting on something, thinks that perhaps she'll say something—has she forgotten social cues, too?

He gives her his number and they arrange to meet again. She feels like there's something she's forgetting (well, obviously, she's forgotten many things, but this keeps bugging her, at the tip of her mind, so close to being remembered).

When he kisses her, it swirls together into a haze of foggy memories and long-forgotten butterfly kisses. He is the steel grey, the fingers, the silk tie, the everything. She pulls him close, trying to remember more—how much was there? Can she really be sure her mind isn't playing tricks on her?

"I'll wait as long as I need to," he says.

She cries, and he lets her mess up his shirt. How could she have forgotten something like this?

* * *

5\. Basic Routine (Miyaji Kiyoshi/Hayama Kotarou) for anon

Hayama should really give him fair warning before he pulls this sort of shit (not like Miyaji is going to let him get away with it, anyway, but it won't be as startling and sudden when he fucking jumps on top of Miyaji) and of course his immediate reaction is to throw him the fuck off and get the fuck away. Hayama lands on the floor, right on his elbow, with a crash, and Miyaji crosses his arms.

"Listen, you little shit, how many times have I told you not to fucking do that? You can't just surprise me like that, okay? Don't touch me unless I say it's okay, which I. Have. Not. Yet."

Hayama blinks up at him, and then his gigantic eyes fill with tears. Miyaji rolls his eyes.

Hayama clumsily gets up from the floor and then almost falls back down again as he starts to sob.

Miyaji feels really awkward right now, torn between apologizing (even though he hasn't done anything—the damn brat is totally guilting him into this right now) and telling him to just shut the hell up.

"Hey, stop crying," he says.

Hayama looks up, eyes overflowing, and then sobs again. He looks and sounds like a bedraggled kitten left out in the rain.

His tears are dripping onto the floor now. Miyaji has a feeling he's going to regret this, but the sobs are grating and he doesn't want to have to hear them anymore, and Hayama's eyes are red and swelling even larger, so he grabs his arm and flops back onto the couch, pulling Hayama onto his lap.

Hayama sniffles, but his body stops shaking and he starts to breathe more evenly.

"Miyaji-san?"

"What?"

"Can I hold your hand?"

"Whatever."

Hayama clasps Miyaji's hand in his, and it's not as tight of a grip as usual. His nails aren't too sharp, either, and though his pulse is wild Miyaji guesses he can forgive that. For now.

* * *

6\. Not Allowed to be Easy (Haizaki Shougo/Momoi Satsuki) for anon

There were many boys she could have loved; there were many boys she could have loved. It would have been easy, a happy cliché, for her to fall for Dai-chan, the purehearted boy next door who grew up to be hot and cynical. She could have fallen for Imayoshi, the mysterious evil genius captain, or Susa, the snarky but steady upperclassman. She could have fallen for Tetsu-kun, and she did a bit, but she only really fell for the illusions and misdirection he represented. She could have fallen for someone, anyone else, but she fell for Haizaki.

She was supposed to be the golden, untouchable princess, and he was supposed to be far below her, and if the world arranged itself the way Akashi wanted it to they never would have met. But they did meet, and feelings were irrevocably set in motion. She daydreams about his shaky laughter, back when his hair was wild and his smile was more obviously defensive than malicious. But this isn't about the boy he was, the boy he could have been (well, it is, a little, because without them she never would have thought about him in the first place) but it is about the boy he is, his savage strength, the bruises that appear on her forearm every time he clutches it and pulls her close to him, the ruthlessness in his eyes and how that has replaced mischievousness and hope.

Things are never allowed to just be easy; she's not sure what she even wants—she doesn't want him to be like this; she doesn't want him to change; she wants to be happy but she's not sure she can ever be with him (she's almost positive he can never be happy with her). All she knows is that she loves him, and in the movies that brings clarity and joy but her life is not a movie and they are not supposed to be; destiny is not on their side the way it's on some arbitrary heroine's side. (She doesn't need any help from fate, though; she'll do it on her own if she has to.) But her feelings make it harder for her to breathe when he holds her; they make it harder for her to clutch his hand, for her to sigh when he touches her in the right places. She's stuck in the middle of a dark swamp, and she can't find her way out. She can't even wade through alongside of him, because she has no idea where he stands.

But she can't give up on him even though she knows she should (even though she knows she should have a long time ago).

* * *

7\. Collarbone (Akashi Seijuurou/fem!Mibuchi Reo) for anon

He gets almost hasty when he's too close, when he spends too much time licking and biting her collarbone and he could probably just get off on that if he really wanted to—but he never does, always insisting on doing it the "right" way, which means actual sex—not that she's complaining.

It's not as if he doesn't give adequate attention to the things that turn her on as well; he makes sure to touch and kiss that one spot behind her left ear that makes her squeal every time (but not too often so it doesn't lose sensation) and he looks at her and she feels so hot she's going to turn to ashes and he makes absolutely sure she knows how much he loves her, how much he cherishes her, with his delicate touches everywhere on her skin, the butterfly kisses, his sweet words. But then he gets going on her collarbone, touching and licking and kissing and biting until he's already shaking and leaking and she has to help him put the condom on and it's bit of a mood-killer, honestly; he doesn't have it completely together and she's horny and annoyed but then he moves inside her and sucks her collarbone until it turns black and blue and sometimes she comes twice because his thrusts are so powerful and even and her collarbone has already become numb from the gnawing.

It takes a while for it to heal, and the bruise spreads like permanent ink and she can't hide it because even the best waterproof makeup doesn't stand a chance with the way she sweats in games. He apologizes, but he's not actually sorry; he's trying to placate her.

She gets that he wants the world to know they're together, but wouldn't it be easier to just hold hands or something? Of course, he can never take the easy way out; he challenges himself and then burns through the challenge like it's not even worth his time, sometimes. But even if she wasn't sure she was worth his time (which, mind you, she knows she absolutely is) he'd make sure she knew it.

Besides, it's nice when he kisses the tooth marks in the morning and traces his fingers over them at night before they go to sleep (she won't let him make fresh ones before the old ones fade) and nuzzles her neck when he's done. He's cute even when he's not, but she can't let it get on her nerves too much.

* * *

8\. After a Long Day (Takao Kazunari/Mayuzumi Chihiro/Kuroko Tetsuya) for anon

Chihiro is exhausted. Work was hell, today; he barely had time to eat lunch and he forgot his new novel at home so there's nothing to read on the train ride back. He's too paranoid about missing his stop to sleep on the train, so he stares into space and thinks about how shitty his coworkers are and how demanding his boss is and how he'd really like to be reading, damn it. Books take his mind off the tediousness of real life. He's also kind of horny, and perhaps that's what's actually preventing him from falling asleep.

At least he has his keys; he lets himself in and almost collapses in the foyer.

"Chii-chan!" Kazunari runs up to him and hugs him and Chihiro sinks into his arms and gropes his ass.

"Frisky today?" Kazunari says, kissing his cheek. "Tecchan is, too, but I told him we'd wait for you."

"What about you?" Chihiro asks as Kazunari helps with his coat.

Kazunari shrugs and grins. "You know I'm always up for anything. But how was your day?"

"Shitty," says Chihiro frankly.

Kazunari hugs him again. "Well, you're in the right place. Tecchan's drawing up a bath for all of us."

The large bathtub is perhaps the best investment they'd made in the renovations they'd had done to their apartment. All three of them fit inside comfortably and with plenty of room to move around. When they reach the bathroom, Tetsuya is already inside.

"Chii-chan had a bad day," Kazunari says.

Tetsuya nods. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Kazunari and Chihiro disrobe and step in, and it's bliss to Chihiro's aching limbs. He leans back and Tetsuya and Kazunari are immediately tending to him, pressing washcloths to his arms and kisses to his neck.

Well, there's still time for this day to turn around.

* * *

9\. Not Giving Up (Imayoshi Shouichi/Hara Kazuya) for anon

"I'll wait," says Imayoshi. He picks up his book and starts to flip through it; Hara can't tell if he's really reading (not that he's paying too much attention, anyway).

Hara crosses his arms and snaps his gum a few times, sharp inhalations resulting in very loud cracks. Imayoshi's reaction is a non-reaction; he keeps looking at the pages in front of him.

Hara has absolutely no romantic feelings for this guy. Or at least, he's not supposed to and he's not about to admit he does (that is, if he does, which he's only half figured out). Imayoshi's good in bed and a witty conversationalist, but this isn't love. So Imayoshi can wait all he wants but Hara won't budge. Whatever the feeling-things are that are currently bouncing around in his body and mind, he's not going to waste time analyzing them and assigning a name. Imayoshi should just stop teasing him (but Imayoshi will never stop teasing him or anyone else) and drop the issue, but he can be irritatingly stubborn at times, and it looks like this is one of those times. But Hara will wait for Imayoshi to finish his book; he will wait for Imayoshi to let it rest again and start another conversation. He'll win this time for sure.

* * *

10\. Without Permission (Imayoshi Shouichi/Sakurai Ryou/Hanamiya Makoto) for anon

Hanamiya flips through the book, lip curling in disgust. "Well, well, it seems you were right, Imayoshi. These protagonists look awfully familiar."

"I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry!" Sakurai cries.

"I reckon it's a little bit too late for that," says Imayoshi. "But what are we going to do about this?"

Hanamiya shrugs. "Well, he clearly needs to be taught a lesson in asking."

Sakurai strains against the bonds keeping him in place. He really wants to cover himself in shame because their words are really turning him on and it's quite visible.

"Hmm," says Imayoshi. "Maybe we should spank him?"

"That's boring," says Hanamiya. "Leave him tied up for a day."

"No, Hana-chan, that's boring."

Sakurai keeps getting more and more aroused.

"Listen," says Imayoshi, turning toward Sakurai. "You can't come unless you ask first, okay?"

Sakurai nods.

"So," says Imayoshi. "I've decided."

"Hey!" says Hanamiya.

"Hana-chan and I are going to come on you."

Hanamiya crosses his arms. "That was my idea."

Imayoshi grins. "I'm not psychic, but I'm absolutely thrilled that you're up for it."

They climb up onto the bed and start stroking themselves. Sakurai strains against the bonds again and again, trying to touch himself and feeling like his entire body is on fire even though he can't.

"Ah! I-Imayoshi-san, can I come?"

Imayoshi pauses. "No, you most certainly cannot."

"We're not done yet," says Hanamiya.

"But…"

"But what? We've already established that you don't know how to listen," says Imayoshi.

Sakurai continues to strain and a few seconds later, Imayoshi and Hanamiya resume their stroking. Sakurai tries to tell his body to calm down but it just won't. He's so close, but he squeezes his eyes shut to block out the view, imagines non-sexual things in his head like deodorant and hats and soap.

He feels a sticky liquid hit his chest and blinks; both Hanamiya and Imayoshi are coming onto him as promised. Sakurai exhales.

"Remember to ask," says Imayoshi.

"Can I come?" asks Sakurai.

"No," says Imayoshi.

"Yes," he says a few seconds later, and Sakurai begins wiggling his body in earnest. Both Imayoshi and Hanamiya give him a few strokes and that just about does it.

"See how well you're rewarded when you ask?" Imayoshi says.

Sakurai nods. "I'm really, really sorry."

"Well, prove you are by not doing it again, then."

* * *

11\. Rainbows and Halloween in December (Kise Ryouta/Kuroko Tetsuya) for anon

Kuroko answers the door in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"Oh, I thought it was you, Kise-kun."

He looks so adorable that Kise immediately throws his arms around him. This time, he doesn't duck but (limply) accepts the hug.

"I'm so happy you're so affectionate this morning," Kise whispers into the top of Kuroko's head.

"My reflexes are not working yet," Kuroko replies.

Since Kuroko's not going to make him food, Kise decides to fix himself a bowl of cereal. Kuroko doesn't object, but he sits on the couch and dozes off again. He's adorable when he sleeps, but Kise shakes him awake anyway.

"So did you get my e-mail last night?" Kise asks.

"I was not aware that it needed an immediate reply."

"But Kurokocchi! We have to start planning costumes immediately!"

Kuroko blinks. "It's a costume party?"

"Of course it is!"

"Kise-kun, it's Christmas, not Halloween."

Kise pouts. "You're no fun, Kurokocchi."

"I didn't even say I was going," says Kuroko.

Kise puts down his half-finished bowl of cereal and clasps his hands. "Oh, please, Kurokocchi? It'll be tons of fun!"

"I don't like parties; you know that," says Kuroko.

"But…but…I'll be there…and there's an open bar…"

"I'm not big on alcohol, either."

Kise crosses his arms. It's useless. Kuroko's too stubborn, and even Kise's biggest puppy eyes have never worked on him.

Kuroko reaches out to run his hand through Kise's hair. "I'd rather stay in and watch a holiday movie with you instead."

Kise nearly bursts into tears. The soft smile that Kuroko's giving him right now is a rarer sight than a rainbow, and unquantifiably more beautiful.

* * *

12\. Competitive (Sakurai Ryou/Takao Kazunari) for anon

He adjusts his hair in the mirror; the temporary extensions are kind of a drag and he's always afraid they'll fall out (although they sure as hell beat a wig in terms of comfort). Still, he looks very pretty today, impossible to distinguish from the actual women here. There's no prize for the mall beauty contest except the glory of winning, which he very much intends to win fair and square. He hikes up his skirt just a little bit more before taking his place in line among the others.

They move at a brisk pace, and soon it's his turn to walk across the stage. He winks and giggles, blowing theatrical kisses to the crowd amid a chorus of whistles, applause, and catcalls. He makes sure to smile at all of the judges. He's very confident he aced it, especially when the groans and the hawk's eye tell him the contestant behind him has fallen and twisted her ankle.

The judges confer for a few minutes and then finally announce the semifinalists.

"Please return to the stage, Takao-chan, Sakurai-chan, and Hanazawa-chan!"

Takao steps back on stage, giggling and waving again. He turns toward the other contestants. Hanazawa is petite and cute, with long, curly blonde hair and the longest, thickest false eyelashes he has ever seen. She's going for some sort of Lolita hybrid look, and she rocks it. Sakurai is…Sakurai Ryou.

"Oh, Sakurai-chan! Hi!" says Takao. (Friendliness always gets brownie points.)

Sakurai blinks. "Takao-chan, um, how nice to see you."

He manages a scared half-smile.

"Hey!" shouts a guy in the audience. "Those hot girls should kiss!"

"Yeah!" shouts another one.

The judges ignore them.

"Kiss, kiss, kiss!" the audience starts chanting.

"Well," says Takao. "What do you say?"

Sakurai presses his lips against Takao's tentatively. Takao fervently hopes Sakurai doesn't bring up his hand and touch the extensions, and as a precaution he intertwines their hands.

"You are disqualified!" shouts one of the judges.

Sakurai pulls Takao closer. "Let's get out of here," he whispers.

"Good idea," says Takao.

* * *

13\. Lockup (Susa Yoshinori/Imayoshi Shouichi) for anon

The dorms are technically open for winter break, but no one ever stays in them. No one, except apparently Susa and Imayoshi this year. Imayoshi wants to use the opportunity to explore the places on campus he hasn't been; Susa doubts the existence of such places but decides that he might as well tag along, mostly to keep Imayoshi out of too much trouble (he'll get both of them in some sort of trouble for sure, but when left to his own devices there's no one to check his crazier plans and Susa doesn't want a missing, injured, or expelled boyfriend, thank you very much.

Besides, they can hold hands when no one else is here. The cleaning staff is gone by noon and they walk around the empty school buildings. Susa finds it more than a little creepy, but then again it's perfectly suited to Imayoshi if it's like this, isn't it? Their breath freezes in the air and Imayoshi snuggles closer than is strictly necessary for warmth, but Susa's fine with it.

"How about the storage locker? I always wondered what was in there." Imayoshi edges toward the door.

"School supplies," says Susa. "I'm hungry; can we get lunch?"

Imayoshi ignores him and opens the latch. "Or maybe a hidden stash of money?"

Susa snorts. "Of course. That's exactly where they'd put it, where the janitor goes in every day."

"Yes!" says Imayoshi and he shoves Susa in and follows. The door slams shut behind them.

"Isn't it self-locking?" says Susa.

Imayoshi shrugs. "We've got light in here, and plenty of space to do whatever we'd like."

Plenty of space is a bit of an exaggeration.

"You know, if you wanted to have sex that badly, the bed is much more comfortable," says Susa.

"I'm shocked at your boldness, Yoshinori," says Imayoshi.

"How are we going to explain this to the janitor when he opens the closet?" says Susa.

"We'll think of something," says Imayoshi.

Susa crosses his arms.

"Isn't it romantic?" says Imayoshi.

"Not at all," says Susa, but he kisses Imayoshi anyway. (It's not like there's anything else to do.)

* * *

14\. Beautiful Pain (Tsugawa Tomoki/Sakurai Ryou) for anon

Tsugawa's grin always makes Sakurai a little more nervous than he already is, a little more on guard. But somehow, Tsugawa finds new ways to get under his skin, new insecurities to pick on, new things to pressure him into, and he feels powerless. Sometimes the powerlessness is thrilling; it's exciting to be at Tsugawa's mercy and have no say and Tsugawa thrives on the power. The cycle feeds itself, and the sex is better every time, more painful and drawn out and Sakurai whimpers and cries more, but he comes harder and feels more satisfied. Besides, Tsugawa's okay with cuddling afterwards and actually acting kind of sweet (and he's always appreciative of the breakfast Sakurai makes him the next day) so it balances out and makes him eager for their next session of pain and discomfort.

* * *

15\. Beautiful Pain (Tsugawa Tomoki/Takao Kazunari) for anon

He was supposed to win this, was supposed to be able to throw off the pressure defense and pass around Tsugawa. It wasn't supposed to be easy, but it was supposed to be doable. He wonders idly if the sophomore who was supposed to be the starting point guard this year will start the next game, will make those perfect passes and get around the defense. But it doesn't matter; he'll never get this one back.

Even though he put what seemed like half a container of sugar in his coffee, it still tastes bitter and bleak. Shin-chan trusted him, gave him that look, his faith—and Takao betrayed it. He couldn't get past Tsugawa, had probably fifteen turnovers (maybe more)—he couldn't take it. What kind of point guard is he? He sighs. He knows that it could be bad luck or a bad game, but even on his worst days he should still stay ahead of the competition. That's why he stays after practice, right?

"Hey! Fancy seeing you here."

"Speak of the devil," Takao mutters.

"What?" Tsugawa blinks at him.

Takao shakes his head.

Tsugawa shrugs and calls over the waiter. "Can I get an orange juice?"

This late in the afternoon? Well, whatever. Takao's not going to comment on it; the less they talk the better as far as he's concerned.

Of course, Tsugawa thinks very differently. He talks Takao's ear off about school, other basketball players, and shit that Takao honestly doesn't care about right now. He tries to block out that bald guy's damn annoying voice, but nothing works.

"Look," Takao says after finally draining the last of his coffee. "I get it. You beat me; you're better. Now go away and stop rubbing it in my face."

"What?" says Tsugawa. "Still hung up on that? Man, life's too short. I mean, you're kind of cute and I thought you might like to play."

Is he fucking serious? Who talks that way? Takao sighs. "I'm…flattered, but no."

"Aw, come on." Tsugawa bats his eyes and for a moment Takao thinks that he actually does look okay, and yeah, he had some decent-sized muscles that Takao was clearly watching during the game and no, no, no. This is not happening.

Tsugawa takes the non-answer as an affirmation and grabs Takao by the hand. "My house is close by, and my parents aren't home!"

Takao thinks about running away, but somehow his feet carry him through the streets, through the door, up the stairs, and into Tsugawa's apartment. Tsugawa doesn't waste time with niceties, something Takao actually kind of appreciates. His hands are rough on Takao's arms and as nimble as his fingers are with a basketball, they're even better at removing clothes. Takao barely has time to notice how well-hung Tsugawa is before Tsugawa shoves Takao's mouth against his cock. Takao would protest, but Tsugawa has no hair for him to grab onto so it's not like Tsugawa could really suck him off. Still, it's weird to have a dick so far down his throat. Tsugawa's hands in his hair actually feel quite nice, though, and before he really notices Tsugawa comes in his mouth and he reflexively swallows.

He's not done, so Tsugawa jerks him off and kisses him on the forehead when he's done.

"You did good," Tsugawa says, stroking Takao's hair.

Takao realizes that he's been had once again—and that he actually doesn't care too much. It's nice to fall asleep in Tsugawa's arms.

* * *

16\. Decisions (Kiyoshi Teppei/Takao Kazunari/Hyuuga Junpei) for anon

"You're really a pain in the ass, you know?" Hyuuga says.

Takao squirms in Kiyoshi's lap and Kiyoshi hugs him closer. It's not too bad yet.

"So, Kiyoshi, what should we do?"

"I don't know," says Kiyoshi. "You've been a challenging opponent, kid."

"Don't praise him!" Hyuuga shouts. "You're almost as bad, idiot."

Hyuuga frowns and scratches his chin. Takao glares at him.

"Bend him over your knee, Kiyoshi," says Hyuuga. "Let me spank him."

Kiyoshi does as he's told. Hyuuga roughly yanks down Takao's shorts and smacks his ass. It's not all that hard; Takao's pretty sure Hyuuga doesn't have much experience. The second one stings a little more, and the third one a bit more. The sixth one really hurts and he bites back a yelp; Hyuuga's really getting the hang of things. The tenth stirs something inside of him, and he starts getting uncomfortably turned on after at least the sixteenth.

"Um, Hyuuga?" says Kiyoshi.

"What?" says Hyuuga.

"He's hard."

Takao blushes. Why did he have to say that so bluntly?

"Turn him over," says Hyuuga.

Kiyoshi complies. Hyuuga grins and crosses his arms.

"Well, well, well."

* * *

17\. Punny and Perfect (Izuki Shun/Hyuuga Junpei) for anon

"I'm topping, and that's final," says Hyuuga. "Maybe I am gay, but I'm not going to be the woman in the relationship."

Izuki rolls his eyes. "I'm not the one making a Hyuuge deal about this."

"Shut up," says Hyuuga.

"Besides," says Izuki, "You'll have the gay-test time bottoming me."

"Oh, my god," says Hyuuga. "I won't let you bottom me if you keep making sex puns. Those aren't turn-ons at all."

"Really? Because I couldn't help but notice that nice ass-ist of yours last game. And since you're the shooter, you should let me have that…ass-ist."

Hyuuga's still trying to figure out what the fuck Izuki is talking about when he realizes that he's half-naked and Izuki's stretching him out. Ah, well, he might as well go full-out gay. A captain shouldn't do anything half-assed.

So to speak.

* * *

18\. Step Up (Mibuchi Reo/Sakurai Ryou) for anon

"I'm sorry!" Sakurai mumbles, bowing frantically.

Mibuchi rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Just get on with it and shoot. It's not like you're going to win, anyway."

"Oh, yeah?" says Sakurai.

Then, he bows and apologizes again. But he shoots the ball in a perfect arc; it nearly misses but circles around the hoop and finally falls through the net. He tosses the ball to Mibuchi, and he takes a clean fadeaway that gets nothing but net.

Before he can pick up the ball, Sakurai's gotten to it. He takes an off-balance shot, but it's deadly accurate and Mibuchi might even say that it swishes straight through the hoop with malice, but that's silly. Basketballs don't have emotions, even if the person who's throwing them does.

"Your move," says Sakurai.

That dangerous look in his eyes is hot, intoxicating almost. Mibuchi cubs Sakurai's chin in his hand and kisses him softly.

After a few seconds, Sakurai shoves him away. "That's cheating; that's  _not_ what I meant."

The madder he gets, the more attractive he looks and the better he is at basketball, so Mibuchi has absolutely no problem with this.

* * *

19\. Annoyances (Imayoshi Shouichi/Izuki Shun/Takao Kazunari) for anon

"Imayoshi is so int-Ima-dating!" Izuki declares.

Takao groans and slaps his face. "You can't say it like that, especially when he's right in front of you."

Imayoshi cocks an eyebrow. "Do tell me how I am intimidating."

"Well you always put people off-guard…"

"Stop it," says Takao. "Sometimes your puns are funny, Shun-chan, but…"

"Oh, you want one?" says Izuki.

Takao rolls his eyes. He has no idea if Izuki is playing dumb or trolling or what he's really doing but it's not funny.

"You're unusually impatient, today, Takao," says Izuki. "Something…ruffle your feathers this morning?"

Well, as a matter of fact, his sister had woken him up at 4 AM because of a nightmare and he couldn't fall asleep afterward so, yes.

Imayoshi looks at Takao. "Well, Takao-kun, I reckon there are a lot of ways we could keep his mouth shut."

Oh. Even when he's tired and grumpy,  _that_  is a nice possibility.

"What?" says Izuki. "Just because my jokes were on point—"

Imayoshi shoves his hand in Izuki's mouth and unzips his fly. He glances at Takao, and Takao follows suit. Neither of them is hard yet, but that will be taken care of soon. Simultaneously, they shove their dicks into Izuki's mouth.

The warm wetness sharpens Takao's focus and makes him gasp. Izuki gags and sucks, lips stretching from the way Takao's and Imayoshi's cocks are swelling. As he continues to suck and Takao grows more aroused with the way Imyoshi's cock twitches against his and Izuki's tongue swirls around his shaft, Imayoshi kisses him softly.

"Suck harder," Imayoshi commands.

Izuki's eyes are tearing up as he vigorously licks and sucks, trying to take both of them in farther even though his mouth is already filled. He mumbles something incoherent, not that Takao would be able to understand it because the friction between his cock and Imayoshi's and the slickness and hotness of Izuki's mouth are driving him wild.

* * *

20\. Cleanup (Mayuzumi Chihiro/Mibuchi Reo) for anon

Akashi excused himself early; Hayama escaped somehow; Nebuya got hungry and wandered off. Mibuchi can't be sure of Mayuzumi's whereabouts, so it's probably safe to assume that he's been left alone with the rest of the decorations. There aren't that many left, but it's still kind of a drag. There are a couple of sprigs of mistletoe, some strips of crepe paper, and the tablecloths, all of which can be thrown out, left. Still, it's kind of lonely without any company. He crosses the room over to the tables, but almost trips over Mayuzumi in the middle of the room.

"Oh, so you were here," says Mibuchi. "So you're going to take the—"

Mayuzumi cuts him off with a lingering kiss; he tastes like mint chip ice cream and something bitter and why is Mibuchi noticing this right now? Mayuzumi backs away, smiling that damn evil grin of his, and Mibuchi can only gape. Mayuzumi points upward.

Oh. That goddamn mistletoe.

"You should be careful where you're walking," says Mayuzumi. (Has his voice always been this deep?) "You might just happen to bump into someone in the wrong spot. Just think if it was the captain, hmm?"

Mibuchi takes a deep breath. He doesn't even want to think about that. "But you didn't have to, Chii-chan. No one's here."

"I'm here," says Mayuzumi. "And I'm a man of my honor; aren't you?"

* * *

21\. Flowers and Beauty (Mibuchi Reo/Hanamiya Makoto) for anon

Reo always slips the collar on without complaint, even pausing several times to look in the mirror and adjusting it. Makoto would like to say that Reo enjoys being his—and he does, in a way, always way too overeager to hold hands in public. But sometimes he tries to take the lead, and that's no good. Makoto is the leader in this relationship, and he makes sure Reo knows that, makes sure to leave enough marks on his neck and the insides of his wrist so that he'll never have enough time to cover it up with all of his makeup, and puts the collar on him, and tells him every day.

And he doesn't ever let Reo actually get away with any of this, okay? When they do something that Reo suggests or wants, Makoto actually wanted to do it all along. Of course he did; only a fool would suggest otherwise. Besides, when it's something Reo wants, too, Reo is extra-affectionate, acts more docile.

"You're being a good boy, today, Reo," Makoto whispers.

And Reo smiles at him and moves closer—and Makoto is beginning to regret praising him, because this is too much and Reo has no shame or sense of decency whatsoever. Give him a millimeter and he takes continents' worth of distance, and his butterfly kisses on Makoto's neck are definitely not nice at all. It's not like they fill a space or take away any sort of ache—that would be silly.

* * *

22\. Killer Eyes (Imayoshi Shouichi/Mibuchi Reo) for anon

"You're not my type," says Mibuchi.

"Well, what a coincidence," says Imayoshi. "You're not mine, either."

Imayoshi tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear and leans forward, exposing his rather impressive shoulder muscles. The smile certainly doesn't hurt—emo guys frown and angst a lot, and Imayoshi seems relatively angst-free. Still, though, that doesn't automatically make him Mibuchi's type. For instance, his style sense is sorely lacking. Old t-shirts and khakis aren't exactly in right now, but somehow he pulls it off. Mibuchi has no idea what Imayoshi's type is—and he totally doesn't want to know. And if he did, there'd be no real reason, just idle curiosity. That would be all, really.

"Although you certainly are beautiful," says Imayoshi.

He leans farther forward across the table and opens his eyes a fraction. They're captivating; Mibuchi doesn't have a name for their color other than gorgeous, and he instinctively leans forward as well. Their lips meet, and Imyoshi chomps down hard on Mibuchi's lower lip. Mibuchi grins into the kiss. This sadistic side might prove to be very interesting, and it may be a challenge but he's sure he can match it. If he doesn't, he'll enjoy trying.

* * *

23\. Just Because (Mibuchi Reo/Takao Kazunari) for anon

The disappointment in their eyes is delicious, the utter blankness and self-loathing—it's obvious on all of their faces except that one adorable little point guard's. His eyes are still burning brightly. He's proved his worth, even if the rest of them are mostly forgettable, and Reo can't wait.

He puts on extra cologne, ignoring Eikichi's and Chihiro's stupid snide remarks about the smell (Eikichi should be one to talk, really) and makes sure his hair looks perfect. He whistles as he exits the locker room. This is going to be good.

He manages to catch Takao looking at the scoreboards, oddly enough. He doesn't look too happy to see Reo.

"Hey, sweetheart," Reo says.

Takao blanches. "What the fuck? You beat me and now you're calling me sweetheart?"

"Of course," Reo says, patting his arm. "Your courage was quite admirable and I must say your skills as a point guard are second only to Sei-chan's."

"Well, that's still second," says Takao, but he doesn't pull away from Reo's arm.

"Let me make it up to you," says Reo. "I'll take you to dinner."

Takao blinks up at him. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I think you're cute," says Reo.

Takao sighs. Even he seems a little defeated; it was less apparent when he was among his utterly destroyed teammates but it can't be denied here. Reo puts his arm around Takao, and Takao accepts.

"You're paying?"

"Darling, that's what taking you to dinner means."

(-)

He proves to be an excellent conversationalist once he opens up, which is very easy at an expensive steakhouse (no need to tell him that it's on the school's tab—and at any rate this dinner for two won't be anywhere near the cost of one of Eikichi's "snacks"). He's very into gymnastics and cartoons, and the look on his face when he's explaining a concept is too adorable for words. He readily accepts Reo's attention to go back to the hotel afterwards for more time together, although he doesn't reach for Reo's hand on the way there. Reo decides to back off for the moment.

He draws Takao a bath and Takao doesn't balk at the idea completely. Reo's feeling a little sore, and he's in peak condition and didn't work nearly as hard as Takao did during the game. Takao sinks back and lets Reo pull him into his arms. He closes his eyes and smiles, and Reo kisses him on the forehead.

"Wait," mumbles Takao. "We can do it in a few minutes, but I'm a little stiff right now."

Reo screams internally. Sex was definitely the end goal, but he was prepared to go without, due to Takao's frustration and tiredness, but it looks as if these two factors will be working in his favor tonight. And he never expected Takao to be the one to expect it. He still doesn't believe it until Takao rolls over in the water and kisses him full-on.

(-)

He carries Takao to bed and lends him some spare pajamas. Takao smiles at him the whole time, following Reo with his eyes, not even using hawk eyes. Reo crawls in beside him and pulls Takao into his arms. Takao snuggles into his chest.

"Hey, Reo-chan?"

"Hmm?"

"Let's do this again?"

He is just way too damn cute. It shouldn't be legal.

* * *

24\. Steadying Each Other (Kasamatsu Yukio/Takao Kazunari) for anon

Of course, in the end, he's just a servant, not really a partner or an equal, at least in that sort of sense. He'd slunk off with the first guy he'd seen, a guy who wasn't at all like Takao, and if he wanted Takao's honest opinion (not like he even looked back for a second) the guy was kind of sleazy.

"Well, he shouldn't blame me if he ends up with herpes," Takao mumbles. He's just tipsy enough to think that's funny and he giggles, falling backward and onto some other guy leaning on the bar.

"Oi, watch it," says the other guy.

Takao blinks. "Kasamatsu-san?"

"Oh, it's Takao," says Kasamatsu.

He casts his eyes downward; Takao wonders if he's wondering the one game they'd played against each other, Kasamatsu's last—no, it's better not to think about it, better not to think about a certain tall green-haired shooting guard and his double-double that night.

They settle into a silence, sipping their drinks.

"I'll buy," says Takao.

He might as well make some other miserable man a little bit happier even if he's doomed to slink home alone tonight and dream of bandaged hands.

Kasamatsu flushes. "I…okay."

And then he kisses Takao. It's unexpected, but not terrible. Kasamatsu doesn't seem all that experienced, but he's forceful and intuitive. He tastes like gin, not Takao's favorite flavor but better when it's on someone else's lips. So maybe he'll have company tonight. He hums into the kiss and Kasamatsu just pushes back harder.

(-)

They make it to Takao's apartment fairly quickly and make it to the bed almost as soon as they're inside. Their hands are slipping against each other and they're both horny and agitated and rougher than is strictly necessary. Kasamatsu's a forceful top and Takao enjoys bottoming him; it's…good. Kasamatsu may be inexperienced, but he knows the ins and outs of his own body and they're similar enough so that what works on him works on Takao. He winds his hands through Takao's hands as he moves in and out, sending pleasure up and down Takao's torso. He comes first but keeps moving, considerate of Takao's needs, too, and after he comes Takao kisses Kasamatsu appreciatively.

Kasamatsu sits up and starts to get dressed, but Takao pulls him back down.

"Please don't go."

"But…I…" Kasamatsu stutters.

"I want to do this again." Takao knows he's not being totally clear about what he wants, and it's the sleepiness and satiation talking instead of his actual feelings.

Kasamatsu pauses.

"I think I like you," says Takao. "So please, stay at least for now?"

Kasamatsu sighs and mutters something under his breath that Takao can't make out. Takao spoons him and it's only a matter of seconds before he's asleep, face pressed against the back of Kasamatsu's neck.

* * *

25\. Meow (Hayama Kotarou/Mibuchi Reo/Takao Kazunari) for anon

Reo never expected both of them to be able to hold him down. Kotarou weighs all of, like, two kilograms, and Kazunari's so tiny and wiry. They're like two cats, claws out and fangs bared, staring down at a little bird they'll share (Reo likes to think of himself as a very beautiful bird, thank you very much).

Kotarou licks his lips and then starts kissing up and down Reo's neck. It's kind of arousing, yeah, and kind of cute at the same times. Then Kazunari joins him and they both start biting and sucking at once. Reo wants to squirm; it's uncomfortable, all of this sensation—but he stops himself. He doesn't want them to stop; he doesn't want to hurt them with a badly-placed knee or elbow.

They move down his body, to his torso, unbuttoning his shirt methodically and kissing each part as it's revealed, sucking on his nipples together (here he bucks up his knees and then spreads his legs despite his mind telling him not to) and then flicking as they keep moving downward. They tug at the top of his jeans, and Reo whines. He reaches out his hands, now free from pressure, and tries to palm both of them at once but they move out of the way and smirk. Reo frowns.

They move back and Reo succeeds; they both mewl in harmony like cats in heat.

They pull out Reo's cock and fist it both at once, and move their hands at an agonizingly slow pace. Reo rolls his hips and moves his entire body at once and they still don't increase the pace much. He groans in frustration; their grins widen. It's horribly unfair; it's like torture. They're terrible, teasing him like this, holding the power together, squeezing their hands like this, reacting to every move and noise he makes with little giggles. It feels like forever before they're moving fast enough for him to get close, and then he stays there for another eternity while they drag it out and he finally comes.

They clean him off while he falls asleep, too exhausted to help them (besides, they should do it; it's their fault he's so tired). He stays half-awake long enough to feel both of them rest their heads on his chest and curling up in the crook of his shoulders.

* * *

26\. Special Kind of Hell (Imayoshi Shouichi/Kasamatsu Yukio) for anon

Imayoshi's hand traces over Kasamatsu's abs and Kasamatsu flinches, biting back a moan. Imayoshi's terrible grin widens. His mouth ghosts over Kasamatsu's neck, coming close to touching, breath tickling but he does not laugh. He does not make a sound.

"Aw, Yuki-chan, you're no fun," Imayoshi croons.

"Fuck off," says Kasamatsu.

Imayoshi takes off his glasses and moves in closer, pressing their noses together. Kasamatsu shudders. His mind is screaming for his body to push away Imayoshi, but he can't, won't, somehow, and his hands end up cupping Imayoshi's ass. Imayoshi hums.

"I reckon we should kiss right now."

And Kasamatsu tilts his head forward, meeting his lips against dry and sour ones. Tonight is going to be a special kind of hell, isn't it?

* * *

27\. Mimicry (Kise Ryouta/Hanamiya Makoto/Takao Kazunari) for anon

Makoto doesn't know if he should be annoyed or impressed that he can't tell whose tongue is licking his chest with the blindfold on, or whose hands are pinching at his thighs (they have different-sized fingers, but he still can't tell; the way they touch and imitate each other is perfect—but it's not, because if it were perfect it wouldn't be so frustrating because he's a genius, damn it; he shouldn't be fooled by two idiot cockteases like this, so he's settling on annoyed with a side of angry).

He reaches out and scratches at skin, hoping for a yelp to betray the voices, but they are both silent but for the synchronized breathing and panting and his own sighs, ripped without consent from his throat. Damn these two; damn them both. It feels so good, but his mind is shutting off the pleasure and he won't be truly sated until he figures out which one is which.

* * *

28\. New Year (Susa Yoshinori/Imayoshi Shouichi) for anon

"You're no fun, Yoshinori," says Shouichi.

"Whatever," says Yoshinori. "I'm tired. I'm not going to stay up for fireworks."

"We can sleep in tomorrow," says Shouichi.

"We can do that even if we go to sleep right now. And you don't even have to sleep right now. You can stay up for the fireworks."

"Then it wouldn't be romantic."

Yoshinori sighs. "You're not going to quit bugging me about this?"

"Bug you? Me? Why, Yoshinori, I would never."

"Sure," says Yoshinori.

"Is that sarcasm in your voice? I'm wounded!"

Yoshinori snorts. "They always said you were one of the smart ones."

He doesn't make a move to get up, and Shouichi smiles wider and moves closer. Somehow, he knew he'd get his way.

* * *

29\. Vision (Iwamura Tsutomu/Kasuga Ryuuhei) for anon

"So this is it, huh?" says Kasuga. He claps Iwamura on the shoulder, but seems unable to remove his hand.

Iwamura nods. "Yeah." His voice cracks.

Kasuga hugs him, presses his face deep into Iwamura's chest and tries desperately to blink back these damn stupid unshed tears. It's just basketball; it's just basketball. He repeats the phrase over and over again in his head like a mantra but it doesn't help. Iwamura squeezes him tightly, presses kisses to the top of his head, and then he feels Iwamura's tears falling on top of him and can no longer stop his own eyes from leaking.

They don't let go of each other until they've both stopped crying, preferring to keep the illusion of dignity and letting the other feel but not see—because the sight would destroy them both completely.

* * *

30\. Pep Talk (Aomine Daiki/Sakurai Ryou) for anon

Sakurai's lip quivers and he crumples off the paper. He tosses it across the room into the wastebasket, a perfect shot, but he looks angry.

"What is it this time?" Aomine says.

"I can't draw a bulldozer!" Sakurai shouts, slamming his fists on the bed. "I'm a terrible artist; I'm horrible. I'm never going to make it. I'm sorry for wasting your time with making you critique my art when it's never going to end up anywhere and I'm never going to be anything—"

Aomine covers Sakurai's mouth with his hand.

"Shut up, Ryou. You aren't worthless."

He takes his hand away after a few seconds.

"Now listen up. When you talk shit about yourself it's annoying as hell, especially because it's not true. I don't know shit about art but your stuff looks good, like, really good. Like, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between you and a professional mangaka. And I don't know, maybe some super critic could, but most people are more like me and don't care too much about that stuff. And you're this good when you're seventeen, and you're only going to get better."

Sakurai blinks. "I…I'm so sorry for saying things that aren't true and for annoying you and, and…"

"Don't apologize so much, either; that's really fucking annoying."

Sakurai gulps and nods.

Shit. He doesn't look any happier. Aomine pats him on the head, and Sakurai gives him a nervous smile-like expression. Well, that's still not good enough. Without warning, he reaches up Sakurai's shirt and starts tickling. Sakurai's mouth twitches and he starts to giggle. It devolves into full-blown laughter after a few more seconds and Aomine adds his other hand, pouncing on top of Sakurai. That smile is exactly what he likes to see.

* * *

31\. Don't You Get It (Akashi Seijuurou/fem!Mibuchi Reo) for mjssvanny

She sat up and prepared to leave, as she did every morning after she spent the night at his place, the walk of shame in yesterday's uniform to the school gates, paranoia of people looking at her and knowing—she was ready to face it, ready to put on her sweater and buy breakfast on the way out. As always, he reached out his arm, and she turned to face him, to kiss him goodbye on the cheek.

This time, he sat up. She froze.

"Don't you get it yet?" He looked a little undone with his hair messy like that and his shirt buttoned wrong.

"Get what?" she half-whispered.

"I want you to stay," he said, pulling her close to him.

She blinked.

"Please, Reo," he murmured into her hair. "Stay. Walk to school with me."

"Why?" she asked.

"Don't you get it yet?" he repeated. "I love you."

* * *

32\. Tissues (Takao Kazunari/Momoi Satsuki) for anon

She's somewhere in her third box of tissues when he sits beside her, gently draping his arm around her slim shoulders. She slides into his grip and he pulls her closer. She sobs into his jacket and he lets her; it's less wasteful this way and his shoulder is far more sturdy than her trembling hand.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.

She shakes her head against his jacket and sobs again, reaching her arms around his torso and squeezing. Her grip is strong, stronger than usual (and she's no weakling). He sighs; he hates seeing her like this. It's not often she's this shaken up; usually she projects happiness on top of her worries or doesn't let it get to her too much, but sometimes even she can't take it, and in these times he needs to be there for her. And he will be, for however long it takes for her tears to dry and for the sobs to become sniffles and then breaths, and for the swelling in her eyes to disappear, and beyond, to listen, to support. And he knows she'd do the same for him.

* * *

33\. Mess (Nakamura Shinya/Hayakawa Mitsuhiro)

Hayakawa's never going to stop trying to talk with his mouth full, waving his arms and jabbing his utensils everywhere (why anyone has ever let him near a knife Nakamura will never know). He's almost completely unintelligible, words muffled and lisped and way too fast and Nakamura always has to ask him to slow down just a little bit and he's always a bit afraid Hayakawa will be mad (somehow he never is; he's really too good-natured to actually exist).

He's a messy eater, too, and always ends up with something stuck to the corner of his mouth or his nose (somehow) or his cheek. It's so utterly Hayakawa and so cute that Nakamura can't resist wiping it off for him with a napkin or sometimes with his thumb. Hayakawa always stops talking to try and see where Nakamura's hand is on his face and ends up grabbing his hand and kissing it when he's done. Nakamura averts his eyes, but then Hayakawa grabs Nakamura's tie and leans in until their foreheads touch.

(That's about as much as either of them can handle right now.)

* * *

34\. Ocean (Imayoshi Shouichi/Aomine Daiki)

They set out on the water before dawn, silent but for the boat sounds (Aomine likes to imagine they're a shark in the water, preying on unsuspecting fish, but they're really more like a whale, slow-moving and with no real direction other than "away from land"). By the time the sun is clear of the horizon, they've set the traps and Aomine is dozing in the sun, waves and the smell of salt lulling him to sleep.

Imayoshi drops a live fish on his head some time around noon. Aomine yelps and starts flopping around because he's just had a face full of fins and he was having a lovely dream about a busty cheerleader. The boat rocks dangerously and Aomine stiffens; Imayoshi catches the fish in his hands and somehow it doesn't slip away from his grip.

"You should be more careful," says Imayoshi.

He's looking out at the way the sunbeams filter through the clouds and onto the surface of the water, but Aomine can tell he's smirking. Either way, having this argument yet another time isn't worth it (but there's no way he's getting back to that cheerleader now).

They catch enough lobsters in the traps to sell and have some to eat themselves that night, dip the juicy tails into butter melted over the stove as they lean their elbows forward on the table. Even after the meal, Imayoshi tastes like the bitter saltiness of the open ocean when he fists a hand in Aomine's shirt and kisses him.

* * *

35\. Shut Up (Hara Kazuya/Yamazaki Hiroshi)

The first time they get past first base, Yamazaki makes it abundantly clear that everything he knows about sex he knows from watching low-quality free internet pornos. It would be laughable if Hara didn't want to actually come at some point—it occurs to him that he really should record this weird warbling sound that Yamazaki apparently thinks is sexy and play it for everyone, but then he remembers that he was expecting to not be able to think coherently right now.

It's not like he thought Yamazaki was a sex god or something, but he honestly didn't think it would be this bad. Jerking off to still photos on the internet would be better than this.

"Yamazaki, shut up," says Hara.

Yamazaki scowls. "That's not very sexy."

"Neither is whatever the hell you're doing. Can you just blow me or something?"

Yamazaki blinks.

"Like, put my dick in your mouth and suck on it."

"I know what you mean," Yamazaki grumbles.

He wiggles down on the bed, another thing that he probably means to be sexy—seriously, it's like he prepared a script or something. Hara might think it was cute—if he wasn't himself and Yamazaki wasn't Yamazaki.

Apparently, Yamazaki does know how to give a decent blow job. It's too bad Hara's cock can't be in his mouth all the time, because if it was Yamazaki probably wouldn't say so much dumb shit.

* * *

36\. Perfect Ache (Fukuda Hiroshi/Furihata Kouki)

Fukuda's never rough, always soft with his kisses and touches and motions, and it's  _boring_. Furihata's not a priceless vase; he's a person, and if Fukuda thinks he'll break if he presses too hard on muscle and bone with his fingertip, he doesn't know Furihata at all.

"See, the thing is," Fukuda says sheepishly, "you're so gorgeous and I don't want to do anything to mess that up."

"I'm okay with it," says Furihata, and he waits until Fukuda's staring into his eyes to say it. And then he says it again.

Something in his voice releases something deep within Fukuda, and he bites against Furihata's neck. Furihata gasps; it feels thrilling and intimate and it aches in a perfect way.

Fukuda looks up. "Was that…?"

Furihata doesn't know if he'd finish that with "too little" or "too much", and he doesn't want to know, either. He swallows Fukuda's words in his mouth before they can be uttered and feels Fukuda's mouth gradually soften into a smile against him.

He doesn't have to ask again.

* * *

37\. Video Games (Takao Kazunari/Kuroko Tetsuya) for anon

Tetsuya leans back against Kazunari's chest. "This really can't be a convenient position."

"Hmm, I guess not," says Kazunari. "I can still see the screen, and that wouldn't really be a problem anyway."

He presses a kiss to the side of Tetsuya's neck and Tetsuya squirms.

"Please stop that," says Tetsuya. "I won't be able to concentrate."

Kazunari hums and rests his chin on Tetsuya's shoulder. Tetsuya allows this, grazes the inside of Kazunari's ankle with his foot (that's fouler play than a kiss on the neck, if anyone's asking Kazunari) and focuses his face on the loading screen.

They play a few rounds of fighting, but honestly it's kind of boring. Kazunari would rather watch Tetsuya furrow his brow just the slightest bit and feel his body tense up. Tetsuya is fascinating, much more so than an animated superhero fighting match. Tetusuya's character wins, and Kazunari drops his controller.

"Good game," he says, and kisses Tetsuya on the neck again.

Tetsuya sighs. Kazunari trails kisses up Tetsuya's neck and over his jaw and cheek and hugs Tetsuya tighter to his chest. Tetsuya turns his head to the side and meets Kazunari's lips with his own. Kazunari hears the second controller fall to the ground and then Tetsuya shifts his weight and turns. He's now sitting sideways on Kazunari's lap, and he brings one hand up to rest on the side of Kazunari's head. His touch is hot and Kazunari leans into it, reflexively closing his eyes.

A key clicks in the lock. Kazunari frowns. Tetsuya had said that his grandmother would be on a day trip with her senior citizens group and his parents would be working all day. Tetsuya doesn't seem particularly fazed about the intruder, so perhaps that's a good sign.

The door bangs open.

"Hello, Kagami-kun."

"Kuro—" Kagami doesn't even finish the name. He seems to register the scene before him, the television and the dropped controllers and Tetsuya and Kazunari. Kazunari grins and waves.

"Long time, no see."

Kagami manages to stagger forward, gaping, and Midorima pushes past him.

"I don't see what has caused you to lose your ability to speak so—what."

Midorima starts to stammer, unable to form full words or sentences but seemingly more able to function than Kagami. Tetsuya sighs and gets up.

"I'll make some tea."

Once they've all gathered around the kitchen table, Kagami and Midorima seem to have regained the color in their cheeks and the use of their vocal cords.

"Since when were you two…doing that? Why didn't you tell me?"

Tetsuya shrugs. "About a month."

Midorima glares at Kazunari, pushing up his glasses. "I understand why Kuroko did not inform this idiot of your, ah…relationship. But why didn't you tell me?"

"We didn't want to let anyone know," says Kazunari. "It was fun keeping it all to ourselves, you know…no one prying into our relationship. I thought we would have been found out by now, but…"

"Again, I understand why you wouldn't want too much publicity. But am I not your best friend?"

"Did you hear that, Tecchan? Shin-chan said I was his best friend!"

"Clearly, I'm not," says Midorima.

"Aw, don't be mad," says Kazunari. "You were the first to know. Come to think of it, why are you guys here, anyway?"

"We met on the way over," says Kagami. (His face is still red and he's still not breathing evenly, but he seems to be taking it better than Midorima overall.) "He was looking for you, and he knew you were at Kuroko's house, so I offered to let him in because I had a key."

"Tecchan, why does he have a key to your house?"

"In case Kagami-kun gets lonely."

Kazunari starts. "What? Are you cheating on me?" He's only half-kidding.

"Kagami-kun lives by himself, so in case he wants to come over if he's tired of cooking for himself and wants the company of others, he always has an open invitation."

Kazunari snakes an arm around Tetsuya's waist and Tetsuya leans into him. He looks up and gives Kazunari what on him passes for a reassuring smile and Kazunari smiles back. Even if Tetsuya did at some point have romantic feelings for him, Kagami wouldn't have noticed, anyway.

"Well," says Midorima. "I suppose I'll allow it."

Kazunari snorts.

"You could do much worse, Takao."

"What the hell do you mean by that, huh?" says Kagami. "You saying Kuroko's not good enough?"

"I never said that," says Midorima.

"But you implied it."

"I never thought you were intelligent enough to understand something that subtle."

Kazunari looks at Tetsuya; Tetsuya nods. Quietly, they slip back into the living room.

* * *

38\. Possession (Kagami Taiga/Aomine Daiki) for anon

Aomine's hot; Kagami would be the first one to admit that. He could spend (and, as a matter of fact, he has spent) hours just thinking about how toned his thighs are and the width of his shoulders and the definition of his abs and his back muscles, oh, god the back muscles, and the way he moves is something else entirely, fluid and sleek and gorgeous as fuck (and don't get Kagami started on Aomine's sweet, tight ass and his ridiculous arms). But he's very uncomfortable with other people finding Aomine attractive—not that they shouldn't, because he won't stand for his boyfriend to be called unattractive, either. But they shouldn't even think about putting the moves on Aomine because Aomine belongs 100% to Kagami. Kagami's not jealous or worried; he knows he stands up damn well against any potential competition, and that's not the issue. He just doesn't like that other people look at Aomine like he's a piece of meat, like he could be theirs, like he's already theirs and doesn't know it already.

(Besides, there's the added bonus of Aomine's smirk when Kagami puts his arm around his waist or intertwines their fingers, and as much as Aomine is Kagami's Kagami is Aomine's.)

* * *

39\. Not (Hayama Kotarou/Kiyoshi Teppei)

Kotarou isn't soft, physically; he's all bony elbows and recesses and dents around his hips and collarbones that jut out awkwardly and he forgets to cut his nails and they dig into Teppei's wrist when he grabs it because he can't reach all the way around. He's got no problem comparing his own teeth to fangs, refuses to get them filed down. His voice is like a smoke alarm with a low battery, ear-splittingly loud and continuous. His words have a sharp flavor, sometimes unintentionally, but they still sting (he's made a lot of enemies) and most of his smiles, baring those teeth of his, glint dangerously.

But to Teppei, Kotarou is softness itself, the mussed-up morning bedhead and hands entwined inside down coat pockets and slow blinks and the cushion under his knee and a genuine laugh and lying in the blanket of grass and looking up at the clouds; Kotarou is the cliché softness of the clouds themselves—he knows they're made of water but they conjure up something entirely different in his mind.

* * *

40\. Glad (Susa Yoshinori/Wakamatsu Kousuke)

Wakamatsu's still got a hair trigger temper, screams obscenities when he stubs his toe and automatically whirls around and pushing the blame on someone whenever something goes wrong and is generally loud and angry about a lot of things and it's best not to inquire about what.

But sometimes he's quiet, much more often than he was once. His mouth creases into a jagged but somehow soft smile; his hands are relaxed rather than clenched into fists; he sits at ease. Susa's glad of it, whatever the reason, not just because he's more pleasant to be around or because happiness looks good on him (although those are most certainly true)—there are a million reasons that he can't explain, like the way his mind goes blank when Wakamatsu really grins and the way he kind of likes it when Wakamatsu engulfs him in a crushing, happy embrace.

He kisses Wakamatsu on the forehead before they go to bed and Wakamatsu hugs him again, pushing their bodies together with all his might.

"I love you," Susa says softly.

"Yeah," says Wakamatsu. "Yeah, I love you, too."

Then, as almost an afterthought, when they're already drifting off, Wakamatsu adds, "You make me happy."

Susa wakes up the next morning with his hand cupping Wakamatsu's cheek.

* * *

41\. Fadeaway (Mibuchi Reo, Akashi Seijuurou)

Who decided on the name "fadeaway" for a shot like that? From a technical standpoint, it makes some sense—the shooter is falling and moving away from the defender while he shoots, but in a way it's the opposite of fading. The shot is strong (if it is a good one); the shooter makes something of a surge forward.

And Reo certainly does not fade. Even Akashi cannot tear away his eyes from the sight of his beautiful fadeaway, the perfect release of the ball from his fingers, the angle at which he falls backwards, the length of his arms. It is then that he appears as a demon, truly terrible and fearsome and captivating. If anything, he burns brighter the farther he falls.

Akashi lets himself smile for a moment, but then he casts out these thoughts. They have a game to play right now; he can think about semantics later.

* * *

42\. Echoes (Kuroko Tetsuya/Furihata Kouki)

They'd made plans to practice outside; both of them have the day off from their part-time jobs. Of course it would rain today after two straight weeks of sun. It's not a light drizzle or intermittent showers; it's a full-on downpour.

The community gym is open; no one actually wants to go out in this today just to go to the indoor basketball court. Their hair drips onto the floor, and the squeak of their wet sneakers on the dirty floor echoes across the gym, empty but for the two of them. Soon enough, they're breathing too hard and they've lost track of the score and they lean against the wall to try and steady themselves.

Kuroko's somehow managed to muster up some of his long-gone misdirection because his dry lips smash against Furihata's. Furihata's sure his heartbeat is so loud it echoes across the gym louder than their footsteps did, louder than the roar of a gameday crowd would.

* * *

43\. Drum (Mibuchi Reo/Hayama Kotarou)

Kotarou drums his fingers on Reo's arm when they're just sitting and doing nothing, and at first it annoys Reo. He tells Kotarou to stop; Kotarou continues anyway—and he gets used to it. It's actually pleasant, sometimes, when they're in bed and half asleep and the drumming is steady and slow and keeps Reo from falling into another dream, or when they're sitting on the couch watching television together. Kotarou's always in motion, anyway; if it wasn't the drumming he'd be tapping his foot or bobbing his head to some invisible rhythm. And it's kind of cute and more than a little reassuring the way Kotarou's always touching him, always in some sort of contact, like he needs to feel Reo's skin under his. At this point in time, Kotarou's touch is more familiar and comforting than his favorite sweater or the right position on the couch.

And he's like a dog wagging his tail; the faster he drums the more happy and excited he is, and lately Reo's had to wonder if this is what it feels like to be a basketball, dribbled by Kotarou—but the matching smile and the way Kotarou snuggles down into Reo's chest make thoughts of basketball disappear.

* * *

44\. Thankful (Susa Yoshinori/Kobori Kouji)

Life is chaotic. Work is stressful; familial duties are many; Susa barely has time to think for himself sometimes. But somehow he'll come home on Friday night and Kouji will have already made dinner and they ease into a comfortable silence. With his friends, there's this pressure to talk about work or life or something, but Kouji knows how Susa's sick of talking and thinking about work and how all he wants to do is catch his breath.

They go out for ice cream afterward, and Susa insists on paying, because fair is fair and Kouji made dinner. The early spring breeze, Kouji's hand on the small of his back, the sweetness of pistachio ice cream melting in his mouth—this is it; the stress is melting away.

"Thanks," Susa murmurs into Kouji's collar.

"Mm." Kouji kisses him lightly on the forehead. His lips are still sticky from the ice cream.

* * *

45\. Enough Time (Kise Ryouta/Takao Kazunari)

Their archnemeses are time and space, always coming together to force them apart—one with its scarcity and the other with its abundance. Voices over phones are filled with static; video feeds cut out; text on a screen conveys far less than they need.

When Kise comes to Tokyo, he's always got work and then his sisters want to see him and then he has to get the last train back to Kanagawa so he can get to school on time and between all of these things he barely has time to eat, let alone see Takao. Sometimes, Takao meets him at McDonald's when he has forty-five minutes left before the train and they buy large diet sodas and hold hands under the table while they talk and sometimes when they get desperate they jerk each other off in the dark alley by the train station, both of them keeping as quiet as they can. This isn't how to do a relationship properly; everything is rushed and in the wrong order and with the wrong frequency and they don't know what to say (wanting and liking is not enough, but loving seems like too much) so they tread carefully around the issues and only speak of fickle things. They're both good at pouring out their hearts to strangers or less-receptive friends, but when someone who's paying such close attention is listening everything is turned on its head.

The train pulls away from the station, and Takao wishes desperately that they'll have enough time to figure out how to say what really matters before it's too late.

* * *

46\. Rust (Imayoshi Shouichi/Sakurai Ryou)

Sakurai always smells like spices and something fresh (not fresh linen or fresh fruit, something different that Imayoshi can't put his finger on) and a trace of rust, enough to make him off-putting in just the way that Imayoshi likes. He tastes rusty, too, bitter and sort of like blood even when Imayoshi doesn't bite the inside of his lips; his tongue is hot and wet and soft and way too tentative, so Imayoshi has to take the lead even when he really doesn't want to, and he's getting tired of finding new ways to push Sakurai to the edge over and over again. Still, the way Sakurai whines and flinches under Imayoshi's touch never gets old, and neither does the way he jerks his head up and pushes his rusty tongue into Imayoshi's mouth at exactly the right time.

* * *

47\. Unpredictable Weather (Susa Yoshinori/Kobori Kouji)

They said it would be cloudy, not a torrential downpour, but apparently they lied. Susa sighs, wiping the gathered raindrops from his eyebrows and upper lip and right cheek where they've somehow stuck, trying to stomp off all the water from his boots on the carpet outside of Kobori's door.

"Got caught in the rain, huh?" Kobori says with that wry smile of his that grasps at Susa's stomach and makes him want to kiss it off Kobori's face.

So he does, raindrops rubbing off on the roughness of Kobori's unshaven chin and water dripping from his hair onto Kobori's shoulder and the hardwood floor. His sweater is soaking Kobori's t-shirt, and Kobori doesn't care. He leans into the clammy coldness of Susa's body briefly before he straightens up.

He walks down the hall and Susa follows, taking off his sweater and shoes. The floor is warm, and the kitchen is warmer still. The teapot is steaming on the stove; Kobori hands Susa a cup and takes one for himself. By the time Susa takes the first sip there's already a warmth spreading inside of him, and when he bumps knees with Kobori under the table it only increases.

* * *

48\. Curtain (Yamazaki Hiroshi/Furuhashi Koujirou)

Furuhashi always passive-aggressively shuts the curtains every morning, blocking the light and going right back to sleep on the edge of the bed. It's always tempting to push him off and sometimes Yamazaki does, especially when he's kind of enjoying the early morning light and actually waking up in the morning for once. Furuhashi tells him not to be such a self-centered idiot and closing the curtains had nothing to do with Yamazaki and that he should learn to deal with it. Yamazaki gets up and opens the curtains again and Furuhashi's completely awake by now, which means there's a slim chance of sloppy morning shower sex. (Not that Furuhashi doesn't know what Yamazaki's doing, but that doesn't seem to matter.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> contains material published February 2014

49\. Views (Mayuzumi Chihiro/Izuki Shun)

Chihiro is eloquent and articulate in exactly the ways Shun has always tried to be, always wanted to be. The way he seems to do so much with just a few words is insane, it's like he's generations wiser than Shun. The one-year gap between them feels larger than it should; Shun feels like he's closer in age to his youngest sister than to Chihiro, especially in terms of maturity. It feels, more often than not, that he's letting Chihiro down. Chihiro doesn't start off condescending, but he expects more, he's somehow gotten this idea in his head that Shun is mature and should be making jokes deeper than one-off puns.

"You're capable of more than that, you know," Chihiro says.

"I still haven't mastered the art of the pun," says Shun.

"Well, then, perhaps you should give up?" says Chihiro. He turns the page in his book.

Shun sighs, leaning against Chihiro's shoulder. "I won't."

"Stubborn brat," Chihiro mutters.

He squeezes Shun's hand, and Shun refrains from making a pun here—but just this once.

* * *

50\. Pillow (Susa Yoshinori/Aomine Daiki)

Aomine's lost track of the number of times he's fallen asleep on the couch and woken up to find Susa sitting on the floor in front of him, using his body as a pillow or a head rest. It's annoying and weird; Aomine tells him this and Susa just shrugs in response and tells him that it didn't seem to bother him while he was asleep. Too soon, he finds himself getting used to this, the weight and the warmth of Susa's head on his back or his shoulder, and when he's still disoriented and half-asleep he can reach out and rest his hand on Susa's shoulder. He'd never tell anyone, of course, because Kise would probably start spouting bullshit about deep connections and Tetsu would give him that stupid smirk and Satsuki would say something about how he was finally growing up and that's not really the point. It's something, well, kind of special, and he'd rather keep it between the two of them.

* * *

51\. Boundaries (Himuro Tatsuya/Araki Masako)

There will always be boundaries between them, Tatsuya realizes, boundaries that can't be erased—because of the age gap, because they were once teacher and student, because of their fundamentally different upbringings in different countries under different economic statuses and different familial situations. Even though they're both lonely, they're both so used to isolating themselves and not reaching out that they're still lonely together. It's only a matter of time before they break apart, and they will mourn what wasn't and what will not be—but even now they're mourning what will not be because of their own stubbornness and self-sabotage.

* * *

52\. Study (Iwamura Tsutomu/Sakamoto Kenjirou)

Sakamoto would rather nothing else than to study Iwamura, his absolute power as a basketball player and the warmth of his demeanor and the way he gestures with his hands when he talks. He's wonderful, enthralling, and he doesn't seem to notice it, always puzzled when he feels Sakamoto's gaze.

"I'm not going to go away when you're not looking," Iwamura says.

"I know."

He puts his hand in Iwmura's, fingertips barely extending past the edges of Iwamura's large palms. Iwamura pulls him closer; the rumble of his chest as he laughs is beautiful and Sakamoto closes his eyes. He supposes he can study Iwamura non-visually, too.

* * *

53\. Cut (Mibuchi Reo/Hayama Kotarou)

Once again Kotarou's not being careful, and once again he manages to get a deep cut on his arm from scratching it against the corner of the backboard. Everyone's used to this by now, but Reo can't help but worry, anyway, and he refuses to let the team managers or Coach Shirogane handle the cut.

He scolds Kotarou while he cleans off the blood with antiseptic wipes; Kotarou whimpers and Reo tells him that he wouldn't have to feel so much pain if he just watched where his arm was in the first place. Kotarou won't hold still, even when Reo tells him he has to, but somehow there aren't too many problems with the bandage and his arm gets wrapped securely.

When he's done, Reo sighs. "Please try and take care of yourself."

Kotarou leaps on top of him and kisses him on the ear. "Reo-nee is the best."

Reo can feel his face heating up. "Did you hear what I just said?"

"Yup!" says Kotarou. "Roger."

"Now will you let me go so I can go back to practice?"

Kotarou loosens his grip but pouts. Reo kisses him on the forehead and he brightens up immediately.

* * *

54\. A Little Bit Out of Season (Kobori Kouji/Hayakawa Mitsuhiro)

Hayakawa bemoans the fact that their relationship started just after the holiday and now he's going to have to wait almost a whole year to kiss Kobori under the mistletoe. He's persistent and totally hung up on this, which is just so Hayakawa—Kobori doesn't know whether he should laugh or roll his eyes or try to tell Hayakawa that it doesn't matter, anyway (because it's not like Hayakawa's not kissing him whenever he pleases, already, in public and completely without shame). So he goes to the department store and buys a sprig of fake mistletoe on clearance and brings it to school, presents it to Hayakawa on Valentine 's Day. Hayakawa is overjoyed, makes Kobori hang it up on the ceiling above his bed because he can't reach it himself and then jumps on, pulling Kobori's face close to his and kissing him repeatedly. When he's finally done with this, he squeezes Kobori into a hug and starts shouting about how this is the best valentine ever. He's so adorable that Kobori doesn't really mind the way his ears start ringing.

* * *

55\. Violent (Ishida Hideki/Haizaki Shougo)

Haizaki's a violent guy, knows how to punch and kick his way out of every situation, can cut precisely with a knife, has injured countless opponents on the basketball court. But all of that pales in comparison to what he can do with words; Haizaki reads other people and twists what he finds the same way he twists their basketball skills, to his own advantage and to their detriment, robs them of self-worth and amplifies self-doubt. He cuts right to the core in a jagged slit, wants to see the wounds he creates fester and the skin rot away because that's the mark he leaves. And no matter how many times they make up and restore the uneasy balance, Haizaki will destroy their relationship, destroy Ishida, over and over again, like an explosive ball of hate. Ishida's constantly torn between leaving him for good because Haizaki's awful and no matter how much Ishida reminds him they're there he ignores his redeeming qualities and staying because he's too damn stubborn to not stick it out and because there's still a chance somewhere that maybe they can reconcile everything. He hasn't been proven right, but he hasn't been proven wrong yet, either.

* * *

56\. Blinded by the Light (Mayuzumi Chihiro/fem!Izuki Shun) for anon

"Hiding it from her does nothing," Izuki says. "The illusion only makes you lose one."

Hyuuga looks like he doesn't know whether to yell at her for an inappropriate pun or ask her the right way to tell her. Izuki decides for him.

"Just confess, okay?"

(The sooner he confesses, the sooner he'll get over her, the sooner he might—no, she can't think that right now.)

"Doesn't she tell you these things? Like, in your secret girl talks or whatever? Like, who she likes?"

Izuki twists a strand of hair. "It doesn't really…come up."

At least, she hasn't told Riko about her own affections for Hyuuga, has wanted to keep their thoughts away from each other. She's selfish; she knows it. It hurts too much. Hyuuga says he doesn't like girly girls but then he chases after Riko, Riko who worries about her haircut and thinks about cute animals and wears short skirts on the weekend and talks about weddings and draws flowers in the margins of her notebooks when she finishes the lesson ahead of time (and she always does). Riko is so feminine, so obviously female, especially next to Izuki (too tall, always playing sports on the guys' team, chest so flat it barely qualifies as an a-cup, messy appearance, always treated like one of the boys) that she wants to cry sometimes. She will never be enough for him, not next to that sparkling laugh and that brightness, and if she tried she'd only compromise herself. It's no use.

At least Riko likes Kiyoshi, has confided blushingly in Izuki. Izuki can see what she likes about Kiyoshi, but is at the same time angry for Hyuuga's sake, because even though he's oblivious there's a reason she loves him so much. And he's willing to do anything for Riko and she doesn't realize it, and either way this ends will bring Izuki heartache and she can't bear it anymore.

"I have to go," she mutters and runs off, willing herself to not use Eagle Eye to look back at his face one more time, to capture it once again in her mind.

(-)

Mayuzumi nods thoughtfully, His hand is still holding his place in the paperback novel but his eyes are fixed on her face.

"You're like a shadow, Izuki-san."

"Hmm?"

"You're standing off to the side and if she's as bright as you say, she's like the sun. He's staring straight at her and away from you, and because of the angle you are directly behind him. He only has to turn around to find you but he's so captivated by her that he won't."

"So by the time he looks for me, the sun will have sunk? And I won't be there?"

He sucks in his breath. "Okay, that was a bad analogy."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He reaches across the table and tilts her face up. "It's his loss."

He's being so kind that her eyes start filling with tears, but he catches them before they fall with his thumb, brushing it across her cheek as her shoulders shake.

* * *

57\. Showers (Moriyama Yoshitaka/Izuki Shun) for anon

There are advantages to Izuki's eagle's eye that include, but are not limited to, the way he knows when everyone's gone from the Kaijou locker rooms, even when Kasamatsu has nagged him to hurry up and he's had to reassure Kobori five times that he'll catch up later and he's fine, just trying to look his best for the ladies. He wonders if they really care enough to check his lies, but he'd rather them not know because they'd make a big deal out of it.

Izuki slinks in, hair still wet and shoes untied as he slips his bare feet off of them and pads across the tiles, shedding the rest of his clothes as he goes. He reaches the showers when Moriyama does, both naked and clearly ready.

The knob twists soundlessly; water pelts them at high pressure and Izuki shudders and grinds his hips against Moriyama's. His firm thighs and hard cock send corresponding waves through Moriyama's body; he threads his fingers through Izuki's soaked hair and tilts his head up, kissing his mouth.

He tastes clean, tap water and toothpaste and soap, hips still moving against Moriyama's and hands redirecting the water away from Moriyama's waist. Moriyama's other hand travels down Izuki's back, trailing wet taps until he reaches Izuki's sweet bottom; no matter how much Izuki works out it's still soft to Moriyama's touch.

Izuki whines into Moriyama's mouth, mutters something under his breath that Moriyama is pretty sure is a pun—and though Izuki's are quite clever, he's only got one thing on his mind now. He slips a finger into Izuki's tight hole, feels him shudder curls the finger inside. Izuki looks at him, face twisted into an expression that's awfully cute—and Moriyama inserts another finger. Even inside, Izuki feels so clean.

He supposes he was overeager and that he probably should have used lotion, so he withdraws his fingers and squirts some into his palm, watching Izuki's eyes as he rubs the lotion all over his fingers. He puts the two in again and Izuki squeals; with his other hand Moriyama fists Izuki's cock. Izuki's head lolls; Moriyama adds another finger and then moves them all inside of Izuki—he's getting pretty stretched out now.

Once again, Moriyama takes out his fingers and pumps more lotion, this time fisting his own cock with the oily substance. Izuki's already positioned himself by the time Moriyama's ready, legs spread and back to Moriyama.

God, that ass really is fine. Moriyama takes a second to admire it before he plunges in, reaching around to stroke Izuki's cock and then his balls. Izuki's whining and thrusting and doing all the work for Moriyama (not that Moriyama isn't grateful). Meeting his hips with Izuki's is easy; their pants and moans mix erratically with the steady pounding of water on tile floor and Moriyama can feel Izuki getting closer, cock pulsing under his touch, ass clenching around Moriyama. Izuki comes with a shout, back straightening out and spilling come all over Moriyama's hand and onto the floor of the shower. Moriyama pulls out and finishes himself quickly and comes onto Izuki.

Izuki's eyes are glazed and half-shut; his eyelashes are beautiful with the water droplets on them, almost picturesque. Moriyama leans back as Izuki cleans himself, enjoying the view in bliss.

* * *

58\. Lack of Stealth (Aida Kagetora/Nakatani Masaaki) for anon

It's probably better that they didn't go to the club, because they could only get away with so much there, even among the noise and lights and people. They're both too noticeable; Tora knows he's just got this thing where he draws people to him (Eiji says he's loud, but Tora prefers to think he's charismatic) and Masaaki is incredibly attractive, even when he tries to deny it. He's even more attractive when he's wearing sweatpants and an old tank top, long arms tantalizing. He knows it, too, is planning on torturing Tora, but Tora will be having none of that. He waits for Masaaki to go get out beer and creeps up behind him and presses him against the refrigerator. Masaaki's bigger and stronger, but he gives in with an exasperated sigh and something muttered under his breath about Tora's one-track mind.

* * *

59\. Openings (Imayoshi Shouichi/Nijimura Shuuzou) for anon

The first-year starter on Teikou is a forward. He's big enough to be a forward at the high school level, probably—in height if not in muscle. He's gaining, though, and he might just be on the level of Imayoshi's most adorable kouhai, even if he's not as cute. He's already angry, and not in the typically I'm-twelve-and-whining way. It's certainly interesting, and Imayoshi intends to know more about him. After all, if he's going to assemble a team of the best players when he gets to high school, this kid might be a good addition.

Imayoshi doesn't intimidate the kid (Nijimura is his name); Teikou wins. Hanamiya seethes; it's not attractive—Imayoshi pats him on the head and he gets angrier. Teasing him is so easy that it's almost not fun. Imayoshi has no time for that, quickly showering and dressing, intent on finding Nijimura.

He's not easy to miss, standing at the vending machine. Imayoshi slips up and puts enough coins in the machine for two bottles of Pocari, purchases them, and hands one to Nijimura with a smile.

"What's that for?" he says. He scowls; his lip curls intensely the way it did on the court when he was driving past Imayoshi.

"Congratulations on your victory, Nijimura-kun," Imayoshi says.

"Who the hell told you my name?"

"The rosters are publicly available," says Imayoshi. "Do you not know mine? I'm Imayoshi Shouichi."

He holds out his hand. Nijimura glares at it for a second and then slowly extends his own. Their eyes lock as they shake firmly. Nijimura still seems wary. It's a shame; there clearly isn't enough time to get him to open up today (the team will probably be leaving soon and Imayoshi doesn't want to miss the opportunity to get Hanamiya's opinion on a few plays that were definitely not executed well enough). At the very least he ought to make sure that Nijimura remembers him. Their hands are still clasped firmly, and Imayoshi pulls Nijimura's up quickly to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

Nijimura punches the air where Imayoshi's face had been a moment ago; he's quickly making his escape (and it was narrow; the boy really does have good reflexes). That should be memorable enough.

* * *

60\. Banana (Koganei Shinji, Mitobe Rinnosuke) for anon

He can't risk buying a dildo and having his mother or his nosy sister find it; it's easier if he just uses something that he can dispose of.

Like a banana. It's squishy but it fits inside him all right, with enough lube, stretching him out but more pleasurable than painful. He bucks his hips up to try and move it in deeper, deeper—he wonders how deep it's possible to get it. With his other hand he strokes his cock; his mouth is open and panting. He jerks his hips again and closes his eyes. The door creaks and he sits up; it's probably another false alarm.

Except it isn't It's Mitobe. He looks at Koganei, at the banana sticking out of his ass, and then pointedly away, blushing. He backs slowly out of the room and shuts the door.

Koganei has never been more thankful that his best friend does not talk.

* * *

61\. Snowman (Kise Ryouta/Midorima Shintarou) for 73n

Midorima squeezes his shoulders together and buries his hands deeper in his pockets; he really should have known that a short walk in the snow with Kise would turn into Kise frolicking and building a miniature snowman. There's really not enough snow to make one and it's not the right kind of snow, doesn't stick together enough to be built up into any sort of shape. Kise persists, but it's a losing battle. He puffs out his red cheeks and looks at Midorima for help.

"I'm not wearing gloves," says Midorima.

Kise pouts.

Midorima sighs and takes his hands out of his pockets. "When this is over, we're going home."

He lets Kise hold his hand on the way back but only because he's wearing Kise's gloves and Kise's pockets are much flimsier than his. Kise's smile is almost radiant enough to melt the ice on the sidewalk as he chatters away about how cute their fifteen-centimeter snowman was.

* * *

62\. Magic (Hayama Kotarou/Hanamiya Makoto)

Kotarou flops back onto the grass, dragging Makoto down on top of him. Makoto tries to smash Kotarou's chin with the back of his head, but it's too sharp and somehow he gets the worse end of that deal. Kotarou's way too damn skinny to lie on top of, anyway; his hipbones are digging into the skin Makoto's lower back and his ribcage presses uncomfortably against Makoto's shoulders. Even though he has a good few centimeters on Makoto, he's got to weigh significantly less, and it's always been this way. Makoto scowls and digs his elbow into Kotarou's side.

Kotarou appears not to notice. "It looks so much more magical this way, huh?" he says.

"What, the fireworks? I can explain the science behind them again if you'd like."

"Geez, Mako-chan, you're no fun."

Makoto rolls his eyes. Yet another instance of Kotarou really not getting it—like when Makoto bites Kotarou's lips, it's definitely not okay to bite back (especially not when his teeth are that sharp, holy shit) and it's not okay to hold him in a death grip when he's trying to fall asleep and it's definitely not okay to cry so much when you're practically an adult, or be this forward. He's like an overly-friendly cat, unable to tell the difference between friendly people who are going to feed him and people who are going to torture him. Not that Makoto's worrying about him or anything. But the only one who's allowed to fuck with Kotarou is him (not that it ever apparently has any effect—he's only ever made Kotarou cry purely by accident, like when he showed up fashionably late to a date and Kotarou cried because he was absolutely sure that Makoto had gotten run over by a truck).

Kotarou nuzzles Makoto's neck.

"We're in public, idiot!"

Kotarou ignores him yet again.

* * *

63\. Sadistic Valentine (Imayoshi Shouichi/Akashi Seijuurou) for anon

"Well, the rose petals and the handcuffs are romantic, but I'm surprised you're not going to give me any pretty lines like 'be mine' or 'you're a sweetheart,'" Imayoshi drawls from his position, naked and locked to the bedpost.

"You're already mine," says Akashi. "And you're not very sweet."

"You wound me, Seijuurou," says Imayoshi.

"That can be arranged," says Akashi.

Imayoshi licks his lips. Akashi straddles his midsection and places a soft kiss on Imayoshi's forehead and twists one of his nipples. Underneath him, Imayoshi sucks his breath inward and Akashi nearly loses his balance.

"You mustn't do that, Shouichi."

"Really," says Imayoshi.

He rolls his hips and shakes his shoulders as best he can from his compromised position. For the briefest of moments, Akashi's eyes widen. His stomach clenches. Well, then. He certainly hasn't played all of his cards yet. His lips curve into a smile—well, it's always a bit of a challenge when Shouichi's involved.

* * *

64\. Spoiled (Mibuchi Reo/Hanamiya Makoto) for anon

Makoto enjoys being spoiled, perhaps too much—he expects attention and praise from everyone around him, is unused to receiving less than a certain amount, becomes very obviously unsure when he has no one to prop him up with words of encouragement. He still has a hell of a lot of growing up to do despite his vast intellect, and Reo has to try very hard not to spoil him more than he needs to be spoiled—Reo gets a certain amount of pleasure from Makoto's pleased expression, but Makoto's not a cat (no matter how much he hisses and scratches).

He's awfully cute, though, sleeping with his head on Reo's shoulder, snoring softly, small hands relaxed for a change. It can't do too much harm to let him get away with this much. Reo tucks Makoto's hair back behind his ear and squeezes his hand; Makoto moves closer. Who, Reo wonders, is really being spoiled right now?

* * *

65\. Mouth (Murasakibara Atsushi/Midorima Shintarou) for huongyukapham

When Atsushi deep-throats him Shintarou feels like he's on fire, the wetness surrounding his cock fueling the heat rather than extinguishing it. He yells some garbled mixture of syllables, all of his thoughts combined at once—even with closed eyes and held breath it's still a mixture of agony and ecstasy, undeniable pleasure and a burning need deep inside of him to be fulfilled. He tightens his fingers around the violet strands of Atsushi's hair; Atsushi digs his nails into Shintarou's upper thighs and Shintarou curls his toes. Atsushi drags his tongue slowly over Shintarou's balls and he's seeing stars again as Atsushi hums down the shaft, barely aware of the rest of his body anymore.

* * *

66\. Tenth Heaven (Izuki Shun/Takao Kazunari) for anon

Takao's smile, while certainly not a rare occurrence, is infinitely beautiful and precious to Izuki. The way his warm golden eyes light up is captivating and lovely, no matter what he's smiling about. His laughter is even more wonderful, tumbling from his mouth like shooting stars (and being with him is a once-in-a-lifetime shot for Izuki) at Izuki's jokes or his friends' antics or the world in general. And his happiness is contagious; whenever Izuki touches him his face seems like it's going to crack in two because he's smiling so wide and he doesn't even care because he's already in seventh heaven (well, tenth heaven if they're going by jersey numbers).

* * *

67\. Oral Fixation (Murasakibara Atsushi/Akashi Seijuurou) for bookwormism101

Atsushi is used to tasting things, and that is what makes his mouth so capable. His tongue roams inside Akashi's mouth, running over his palate and flicking his teeth in ways that even Akashi had not been aware of. His lips kiss and suck every part of Akashi's body in a different way; he rarely adds his teeth—he doesn't need to. Beneath the shallow exterior, Atsushi really is quite creative. He does, however, always bite the back of Akashi's neck, leaving an obvious mark every time. And Akashi doesn't mind terribly, provided that he makes a matching one on Atsushi's body that can't be covered easily. Because while Akashi already knows that he is (only in a manner of speaking of course) Atsushi's, the world ought to know that Atsushi is taken.

Atsushi doesn't mind. He gives Akashi that lazy smirk and cups his jaw in one cavernous hand, signaling his acceptance.

* * *

68\. Whole New Game (Ogiwara Shigehiro/Mochida)

The years peel away like the skin from an onion, and in an instant they're right back where they were the last time; the frustration and confusion and tension and anger and indescribable things fill the air and Mochida can't breathe.

Shige can't, either; he's standing stock still and the difference in their heights is still the same and Shige still has a baby face and he still looks like he's carrying the weight of five worlds on his shoulders behind the smile that's rapidly sliding off his face. Does he still regret them? Does he still hate basketball? Is it Mochida's place to ask these things, to think these things, right here? Shige tucks a lock of hair behind his ear in the same way he always has and Mochida really wants to lean across the counter and kiss him over the cash register but this is a public coffee shop and Shige probably still hates him, still can't stand thinking about the memories of their time together, entwined with the sport he fears and loathes. Mochida takes a deep breath.

"A medium green tea, please."

Shige nods. Mochida hands him the exact change and his fingers brush Shige's calloused palm and Shige looks down at the register, away from Mochida's eyes.

"Thank you."

(-)

If he's anything, Mochida is patient. He can make this cup of tea last, can stomach it when it's lukewarm without a grimace, can read and reread the newspaper. He'll wait for Shige to get off, and if he's rebutted again then he won't have to wonder what if, the way he's been wondering these past four years.

He doesn't have to go after him; Shige sits down across from him, still not quite meeting his eyes.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey," says Mochida.

It's 4:33 PM. Mochida has counted the minutes since they last spoke, since they last touched, since they last kissed, and as Shige's lips meet his he resets all of his internal clocks. The overtime deadlock has ended; it's time for a new game.

* * *

69\. Preparation (Akashi Seijuurou/Furihata Kouki) for anon

They cook together; despite Kouki's shaky hands he's actually okay around a stove, and he was the one who insisted they not have any servants in the house—and Seijuurou enjoys it very much. Neither of them can make very complicated dishes, but a lot can be done with a few simple ingredients, and most things are much quicker and even more basic when two people are doing them instead of one. Sometimes the back of Kouki's hand brushes Seijuurou's forearm when they're both cutting vegetables, standing closer than is strictly necessary—and Kouki blushes every time without fail. He's endearingly predictable, and Seijuurou teases him about it as they're eating dinner sometimes (after all, they're living together, so something like this shouldn't even count for anything). And Kouki's cheeks flare again, but he still meets Seijuurou's eyes over the meal they made.

* * *

70\. Too Much Coffee (Akashi Seijuurou/Izuki Shun) for mjssvanny

Izuki sits at the table, bleary-eyed and staring at the blank screen of his phone.

"Shun, you've had three cups of coffee," says Akashi.

Izuki starts, pitching slightly forward before sitting up again. "Yeah, I think I'll go forth and have a forth," he says, yawning.

Akashi raises an eyebrow. "Your choice of words aside, that might perhaps be too much."

"My heart is hardy," says Izuki. "Besides, I'm not awake."

Izuki stands up and leans over the table to kiss Izuki on the lips. His mouth is bitter and unresponsive, even as Akashi runs his tongue over Izuki's teeth. His back begins to strain and he straightens back up. Izuki blinks.

"On second thought, I'm feeling more awake now," he says.

* * *

71\. Bittersweet (Izuki Shun/Kiyoshi Teppei) for mmomoi

It could be bittersweet, that they're together now and only now, after Kiyoshi's knee failed and when they can't play ball together anymore, when they can't walk as far as they want together, but Izuki won't let it be. It's better to let go of the bitterness as much as possible, to acknowledge but not let it win, not let it drag them all the way down.

It's like milky coffee, sweet and smooth but with something else underneath—but it's easy to concentrate on the hollow of Kiyoshi's wrist, his light laugh as Izuki bounces more and more pun ideas off of him, the way he says Izuki's first name half-hesitantly, his morning bedhead and sleepy head, the softness of his mouth over Izuki's and his saccharine tongue.

* * *

72\. Relaxing (Hayama Kotarou/Miyaji Kiyoshi)

Tropical vacations are a frivolous waste of cash, but if Hayama insists on taking Miyaji, he'll go. Maybe Hayama will go on volcano tours and do dumb touristy shit like that and Miyaji can relax on the beach with a nice drink in his hand and get a tan.

He should have known better. Hayama insists on getting up at ass-crack o'clock and dragging him off on hikes and tours and other excuses for Hayama to run around like a remote control car gone haywire while. His nose is burned and when they get back to the hotel he falls right to sleep and barely has time to shower and skips shaving completely. By the fifth day, he refuses point-blank to accompany Hayama.

Hayama looks devastated. "But why?"

"The sun isn't up and I'm fucking exhausted and I came here to relax. You can go on the goddamn tour without me."

"But Miyaji-san…today we're going to see the coconut trees!"

As tempting as the prospect of throwing a coconut at Hayama is right now, Miyaji shakes his head and rolls over.

And then he feels a familiar weight drop on top of him. "I'll stay with you!"

"You're awake and I'm asleep; you'll get bored," says Miyaji. "Go see your damn coconut trees."

"But I wanted to see them with you," says Hayama. "It wouldn't be the same if I was by myself."

"Whatever, I don't care," says Miyaji. "But get off of me, whatever you do."

He wakes up several hours later to Hayama curled up against his chest. When he's not moving and yelling, he's not entirely unattractive. The skin on his nose is peeling and he's smiling and his hand is clutched around the hem of Miyaji's t-shirt, which is fine as long as Miyaji doesn't need to go anywhere.

* * *

73\. Six (Aida Riko/Akashi Seijuurou/Murasakibara Atsushi/Aomine Daiki/Midorima Shintarou/Kise Ryouta) for anon

Akashi's the one controlling everything; he's the one whose lips touch her face, the jaw and the mouth and the bridge of the nose. His mouth is surprisingly warm; perhaps she shouldn't have expected his body to be as cold as his personality. Kise's hands are lightly drumming on her back and neck; he sucks the soft skin on her shoulder gently and murmurs things her ears can't quite pick up (they sound nice, though). Aomine tweaks and licks her nipples erratically, occasionally running his hand down her sternum or across her rib cage and making her shiver each time. Murasakibara's giant hands are working her thighs; he licks trails down one or the other like rivers and presses his fingers deeper than she knew her skin could give. Midorima, fingers smaller than Murasakibara's (not that it matters, really; they're still big) and far more dexterous, is teasing her entrance, brushing her clit, working one finger inside of her and then pulling it out, and this is perhaps the most unexpected thing in this whole series of events. He slides his tongue between the folds of skin; she weaves her fingers through his hair and grips tightly. This is a sensory overload, and she doesn't know how much longer she's going to last. But they don't seem like they're going to quite any time soon.

* * *

74\. Sick (Akashi Seijuurou/fem!Mibuchi Reo) for flutterizou

When she's sick, Reo is especially stubborn, absolutely refuses to take her medicine. She insists she's fine, even when the sweat is plastering her hair to her forehead but she's still shivering under the covers. Eikichi tries to force her down and place the pills in her mouth but she clamps it shut and rolls over onto her back and he's too weirded out by the whole situation to continue trying, so that as a method is out. Kotarou's no help and no one else wants to get near her when she's this sick, so Akashi supposes he's on his own.

The Eikichi method works no better when he's the one trying it; she still shies away, whispering refusals and whimpering as she sinks beneath the covers. He's almost tempted to give in to her—but she's really being ridiculous. She's pulled the blanket above her face. He places the gel caplets in his mouth, between his bottom teeth and lower lip.

"Reo," he says, voice unchanged.

She peeks out. He leans down, touching their foreheads. She's burning; he nearly winces. Their lips meet and he gently flips his lip, depositing the pills in her mouth. She pulls away, but not before swallowing automatically. She's already swallowed the pills.

"Sei-chan, you're horrible," she says. "I hate you."

"I know," he says, smoothing her hair back from her face. "Now get some rest."

She rolls over and buries her face in the pillow. He sits back down; he'll wait until her fever breaks. Her palm is turned up, out from under the covers, and he places his hand inside. Their fingers lock. He smiles.

* * *

75\. Too Childish (Akashi Seijuurou/Imayoshi Shouichi) for anon

Seijuurou is such a child in so many ways, so used to getting his way. He's incredibly high-maintenance and it's more of a bother than a challenge for Imayoshi at this point. He can't feed the unquenchable ego and he's not enough to humble the boy by himself (and he doesn't want to have to be). It's a pity, really; they could have been something—both of them are intellectuals; both of them play their hands close to their chests, but Seijuurou overreaches and tears down boundaries that he really has no right to, breeds resentment around him. Imayoshi's not exactly a pleasant man, but he's careful; he's more subtle.

And such is the way of things. Seijuurou is cute when he sleeps, smirking even in his dreams. He really is quite small, and his cheeks are plump and he curls his body, tangling the sheets around him. Imayoshi adjusts his glasses. He might as well leave before Seijuurou can stop him, and he's already been more sentimental than he ought to.

* * *

76\. Senpai (Miyaji Kiyoshi/Akashi Seijuurou) for anon

Akashi is such a little fucking punk. He's more of a brat than Midorima and Takao combined—maybe they're all members of the "annoying shitty kouhai guards club" or something, and Akashi's president because of course he fucking is. And if he thinks he's going to take the lead in this relationship—not that it's like that or anything—he's dead wrong. So everyone in his life has bent over backward to accommodate his selfish desires? That's going to stop right here and now if Miyaji has anything to say about it.

"I'm your senpai, you got that?" he says, aggressively biting a hunk out of his sandwich.

"Oh?" says Akashi. "I'm surprised you think that matters, Kiyoshi."

"You fucking didn't," says Miyaji. "Who the hell said you could use my first name? I don't remember doing it."

"I don't need your permission," says Akashi. "I am absolute."

"What the fuck does that even mean?" says Miyaji.

"Know your place," says Akashi, and Miyaji suddenly feels a pressure gluing him to his seat.

He glares daggers at Akashi, who continues to eat as if nothing is going on. There is definitely nothing attractive about that haughty gaze, nope. It's just bratty, that's all it is.

"Fuck you," says Miyaji.

Akashi leans across the table and places his mouth over Miyaji's. A few seconds later, he breaks the kiss and whatever hold he had on Miyaji.

"Don't use such foul language."

Miyaji's tongue is tied, but he can still collapse with his face on the table.

* * *

77\. One Track Mind (Kagami Taiga, sorta KagaHimu) for anon

He tries to stop himself, but the thoughts are too tempting and he's always home alone and no one's going to walk in and stop him and he's naked on the bed after the shower except for the chain around his neck and he doesn't want to get dirty again but he feels an itchy sort of ache deep inside of him that he can't shake off.

He takes a deep breath, pours some lotion on his hand, grabs his cock. The lotion is cold; he flinches, hand loose as he works himself up. He's going to think about…something. Something hot, something that's not…him. There are more suitable fantasies. He's supposed to be thinking about women, isn't he? How about a woman with long, dark hair and smoky eyes and big breasts who wears lacy underwear? He can only picture vague things in his mind, certainly nothing that turns him on. He tightens his grip as he strokes himself; he's hard now.

He tries to focus, tits, tits, tits…it doesn't work. Tatsuya invades his thoughts, his dirty thoughts, the contours of his face in the late afternoon, the way he licks his lips to get off the extra salt from the fries and taking off his sweat-soaked shirt to reveal a chest that's way too pale for someone who spends that much time in the sun, muscles gleaming in the sunlight, back lean but strong. The shorts are low on his waist, Taiga imagines them falling lower, lower…he's seen Tatsuya naked before, of course, but even thinking about it in this context makes him blush. He tries to imagine Tatsuya getting hard himself, Tatsuya getting closer. He clutches the ring around his neck; he tries to remember the sound of Tatsuya's voice, the exact changes of pitch when he's excited. He squeezes his eyes tighter.

"Nn…Ta..tsuya…" Taiga's voice comes in short bursts.

Speaking seems to only further his fantasy; he moans again and feels himself come closer and closer to the edge. Again and again, he says the name, lets it roll off his tongue a dozen different ways, rolling it into a rhythm until it almost loses meaning. He comes in the middle of a syllable, voice breaking and hand yanking at the chain.

He lies on the bed, dirty and ashamed but momentarily sated. For a moment he wishes he had company of a certain sort—but in this mood he can suppress that kind of thought much easier.

* * *

78\. Spill (Takao Kazunari/Midorima Shintarou) for anon

The hawk's eye does Takao no good when he doesn't use it; if he's focused on the person beside him he's not going to notice the gap between planks on the patio floor and he'll pitch forward and fall into said person. In this case, it's Midorima, and he doesn't get out of the way in time—Takao's head slams into his can of shiruko, tipping it backwards so that the dark liquid splashes all over Midorima's light blue shirt. Takao manages to steady himself by grabbing Midorima around the neck; Midorima almost falls himself but he manages to keep on his feet.

He splutters. Takao's not sure if he's more upset that he can't drink the rest of the soup or that his shirt is dirty. Well, no matter. The shiruko is soaking through the fabric and he's just standing there.

"Sorry," says Takao, and he hooks his hands under the fabric, feeling the smooth skin of Midorima's hips under his fingers.

"What are you doing?" Midorima hisses, flushing.

"You need to take this off," says Takao.

"We're outside! People can see," says Midorima.

"Oh, you want to go back in?" says Takao, quirking an eyebrow upward. "There's something you want to do inside, hmm?"

"Takao." His face is darker than the stain on his shirt now; teasing him is way too much fun.

"You're the best, Shin-chan."

He leans up to kiss Midorima, and he receives no complaints from that at least.

* * *

79\. No Way Out (Susa Yoshinori/Momoi Satsuki)

At this point, Susa's got no way out. He's fallen too hard for her; she's too much of a kindred spirit for him not to. He's been around basketball players for a pretty long time, but none of them have approached the game with a know-everything approach the way he does; no one devours information and tries to analyze it the way he does. He reads every basketball magazine he can get his hands on, tries to commit to memory the stats of every professional and semi-pro and high school player, catalogues a list of plays inside his head, draws from that. Momoi is the same; she gathers data and analyzes it based on her prior knowledge and formulas that she still refuses to divulge to him, with stunning accuracy. By the time he realized he had fallen for her, it was too late, and she'd already known (the way she knows everything) and had ensnared him. Well, it's not a bad trap to fall into, all things considered. He enjoys her company, her humor, her intelligence—not to mention she's easy on the eyes.

What a girl like her is doing with a guy like him he doesn't really know sometimes, but he won't jinx what they have. It's infinitely precious; she's infinitely precious; her hand's half the size of his and her slender throat is the perfect size as it vibrates with the sweet sound of her voice in his ear.

* * *

80\. Paint (Kiyoshi Teppei/Kagami Taiga)

The walls and ceilings are peeling, white flaking off to reveal the rusty lead paint underneath. They could hire painters, but they could do it themselves for a hell of a lot cheaper so before they move in they spend a day with just each other and rollers and trays and buckets and ladders. The fumes are disgusting and the work is tedious; they're sweating even with all of the windows cracked open. But at the end of the day, they've done it together, and even though they haven't moved any stuff in this place feels a hell of a lot like a home now. The paint is splattered on Teppei's face and he scrapes it off in the bathroom mirror (that needs to be cleaned, too, but that's a smaller job for another day) while Taiga watches, running his arms under the scalding bathtub tap. On the way back to Teppei's grandparents' house, Teppei won't let go of Taiga's hand and Taiga's embarrassed and his palms are sweaty but Teppei looks just too damn happy for him to have the heart to do anything like that.

* * *

81\. Pulse (Akashi Seijuurou/Furihata Kouki)

Kouki's resting pulse is slow and steady (of course; he's an athlete) but Seijuurou can usually only feel that kind of rhythm in his wrist or his thumb or his temple when he's asleep, palms unclenched and mouth soft and shoulders relaxed. When he's awake, he's jittery and nervous almost all the time—except, perhaps, when he's lost in a book and completely in another world from everything around him. Sometimes, though, Kouki can be calm, when he's just woken up and gives Seijuurou that sleepy-eyed smile and buries his face in Seijuurou's chest (and Seijuurou cannot stop his own pulse from speeding up just a bit). Kouki is at his best when he's at his most shameless, when he forgets his fears and inhibitions and just lets it be, and Seijuurou wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

82\. Cinnamon (Mayuzumi Chihiro/Mibuchi Reo)

Mayuzumi's like cinnamon, innocuous enough but spicy; he leaves Mibuchi's mouth raw and numb. When Mibuchi wakes up alone again, the spot next to him is faintly warm and smells like him; Mibuchi breathes in the scent and wants it to cling to him, wants to be sure that Mayuzumi was really there. He has a knack for slipping through Mibuchi's fingers even as Mibuchi tries to clutch him tighter.

"Stay," Mibuchi whispers; Mayuzumi's lying limply in his arms and Mibuchi knows he'll wait until he's sleeping to slip out and get dressed and go back to his room and Mibuchi will wake up at 5 AM, asleep and confused and lonely as hell yet again.

Mayuzumi's probably glaring, thinking he's an idiot because this is nothing more than sex; it can't even be called friends with benefits because they were never friends in the first place, but Mibuchi doesn't care because if he doesn't try he'll be stuck wondering even more.

Mayuzumi doesn't leave until the morning. He doesn't stay very often after that, but every once in a while Mibuchi will wake up with his arms full and a smile on his face.

* * *

83\. Addiction (Furihata Kouki/Fukuda Hiroshi)

Furihata's love of books is like an addiction at this point. It's not like Fukuda's anti-literacy or thinks reading is boring or for squares or nerds; he enjoys the more-than-occasional light novel or science fiction novel. But Furihata reads voraciously; when he's not reading he's thinking about books, about characters and situations that don't exist. Countless dates have ended up with them at the library or the used book stores looking for new books; it's not like Furihata has read everything already but he's very particular about what kinds of books he likes; he sometimes picks up something after looking at the cover and then his mouth quirks down when he's skimming the blurb on the back and he places it back on the shelf.

Fukuda gets books down for him that he can't reach and carries stacks for him without complaint; Furihata always thanks him and apologizes but Fukuda smiles and tells him it's all right because it is. He's doing what he loves, what makes him happy, and when he's happy Fukuda's happy, too. And he's come to enjoy the quietness of the library, the soft sounds of Furihata's footsteps on the carpeting, the musty smell of Furihata's favorite book shop and the way the light filters through the high windows like it's a church. And maybe for Furihata, it is (but that doesn't stop Fukuda from kissing him in a decidedly inappropriate way, stack of books smashed between the two of them).

* * *

84\. Photos (Nebuya Eikichi/Hanamiya Makoto)

Reo insists that they send him photos whenever they go on vacation (yet another item on the endless list of reasons why they shouldn't) and he bugs Eikichi every day about when he's going to get them, and eventually Eikichi gets fed up and pulls out his phone.

Getting Makoto to pose for a photo is impossible, as it is Eikichi's kind of worried about his phone ending up broken. He can try to grab Makoto with one arm and press the button with the other hand, which is how they usually end up taking their requisite picture, Makoto biting Eikichi's thumb and struggling and the picture being blurry as fuck and Reo complaining anyway, but it's never really worth it, especially if they have to explain to random, alarmed-looking people that Eikichi's not actually kidnapping Makoto or anything.

Makoto drinks too much red wine at dinner, the faintest flush appearing on his pale cheeks (he will always try to keep up with Eikichi despite their size difference; he never wins) and the slightest wobble in his legs—Eikichi wordlessly offers his arm; Makoto momentarily debates whether to decline because he's too strong or take it because he needs it and he chooses the latter, face haughty as he draws himself up to his full height and Eikichi tries not to laugh.

He falls asleep as soon s his body hits the bed, not bothering to take off his shoes or his suit and tie, and Eikichi seizes the moment, praying that the shutter won't be too loud (Makoto's a pretty heavy sleeper, though). He smirks at the camera and presses the button. The shutter clicks; Makoto stirs but his eyes don't open. Quickly, Eikichi types in Reo's number and sends him the photo.

A few seconds later, his phone lights up. Reo's text is short and, of course, complaining of something. "I can't tell where you are from this picture!"

"Tough luck," Eikichi types in and then puts the phone down.

He's done his duty and right now he'd rather just join Makoto in sleep. But first he changes the phone background to Makoto's sleeping face, cheeks pink and corners of his mouth turned upward. He ought to be able to keep it for a couple of weeks until Makoto finds out.

* * *

85\. Zombie (Aomine Daiki/Kagami Taiga)

Kagami's a zombie when he comes back from LA and has to readjust to the time zone, constantly in a groggy haze for a few days, half-dreaming and he can't be trusted to do anything for himself although he tries to cook and almost passes out over the stove before Aomine relegates him to the living room while he finishes the eggs. Kagami eats them and thanks him and doesn't even complain about them being too spicy the way Aomine makes them like he usually does and by the time Aomine comes back from doing the dishes he's asleep on the couch and Aomine joins him and they both wake up sore. Kagami's clingy when he's tired, as if he's not sure he's awake and this is real, constantly brushes his hand against Aomine's knee and it's so damn frustrating because he's not awake enough to actually have sex and Aomine's especially horny because Kagami's always been away for way too goddamn long. And then Kagami wakes up after a few days and starts acting like a little shit again and trades insults with Aomine and Aomine pretends to wonder why the hell he missed him when it's even clearer now.

* * *

86\. Perversion (Kirisaki Daiichi team, fem!Hanamiya Makoto) for flutterizou

Going over strategies after practice is difficult to say the least when the first string players can't be bothered to listen, instead directing their attention to a porn magazine lying open on Yamazaki's desk.

"She's not my type. Her eyes are too far apart," says Yamazaki.

"Dude, why are you looking at her eyes when her tits are right in front of her like that?" says Hara.

Hanamiya grabs the magazine and hits Hara on the head with it. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Oh, jealous, aren't we, Hana-chan?" says Hara.

Yamazaki snickers. "Rio-chan's tits are so much bigger than hers she can't comprehend it."

Hanamiya drops the magazine and pulls Yamazaki's tie, twisting it around his neck. He struggles, pulling against it, but it's tightening and he starts to sputter. He leans forward and the desk topples over. Hanamiya releases him as he falls and manages to roll out of the way before the desk hits the ground.

When he sits up, Hanamiya's sitting a few meters away, hair disheveled and cradling her arm. Shit. She wouldn't let herself get hurt, right? She's dodged 190-centimeter guys on a basketball court when they fall; she can dodge a little classroom desk.

She looks up at him through her long, dark lashes. "Yamazaki…you wouldn't hurt a girl, would you?"

"Well, um," says Yamazaki.

She drops her arm and leaps to her feet. "Kidding, dumbass. I can't believe you fell for it."

Despite her words, Furuhashi has walked over to Hanamiya and seems to be checking her for injuries. Or maybe he isn't; he seems to be staring down her shirt.

"Quit gawking," Hanamiya snaps. "You act like you've never seen a woman before."

"I was looking at the ground," says Furuhashi. "Besides, there's nothing to look at."

Hanamiya flushes a bright red and kicks him in the shins.

"Hey, loser, wake up," says Hara, who is pinching Seto on the wrist.

"Stop pinching," says Seto, not bothering to take off his sleep mask.

"What do you think about Hana-chan's tits?"

"All breasts are good as long as they fit in my hands," says Seto.

"Why the hell are you even thinking about dirty things like that?" Hanamiya shouts, clenching her fists.

Yamazaki snorts. Hanamiya grabs her clipboard and throws it at his head.

* * *

87\. Pretty Dirty (Himuro Tatsuya/Kise Ryouta) for anon

Ryouta's face is flushed and his breath is shaky and his palm is flat on the crown of Tatsuya's head. Underneath the self-assured, flirtatious exterior, he's clearly inexperienced and has no idea what he's doing. His toes are curled and his lips are overflowing with sweet sounds; he's not sure what to do with himself—he wants Tatsuya to take the lead but at the same time wants to be assertive, wants to be responsive. It's quite cute, actually; he's so eager to spread his legs and put Tatsuya's head between them, so eager to come, and he does, with a shout, into Tatsuya's mouth.

Tatsuya swallows, releases Ryouta from his mouth, and sits up. Ryouta's grip on him has slackened; he flops back on the bead and his hair is mussed gloriously. He's smiling, different than his usual catch-all smile, not as wide but five times more splendid, glowing like fluorescent lights when viewed through a low-hanging icicle.

"You're still…" he says, gesturing toward Tatsuya's hard-on.

Yeah he is, but the chances of them coming at the same time were pretty low from the get-go. He's about to brush the hair back from Ryouta's forehead and tell him that he can handle it, but why should he? Maybe he can, but that doesn't mean Ryouta can't.

"Got any plans for it?" he says.

Ryouta props himself up on his elbows and his exhilarated smile turns into a smirk. "Come here."

Damned if he isn't a quick learner. The things he does with his tongue and his lips only support that notion.

* * *

88\. Check Out (Liu Wei/Fukui Kensuke)

There are some advantages to the twenty-five (it's no more than that, got it?) centimeter difference between Fukui Kensuke and his boyfriend, and chief among them is that it makes it damn easy to stare at Liu's ass. He's grown again and those uniform pants are slightly too small for him in all the right places (okay, so it looks totally dorky at the bottom where Liu's trouser-sock-clad ankles are visible to the world and Fukui does not miss the opportunity to tease him about that) and…wow. That should not be legal. (Fukui idly wonders what the fuck he did with the handcuffs; it'll be fun to see if he can try and scare Liu into thinking pants that tight are actually against the law.)

* * *

89\. Handle (Hanamiya Makoto/Momoi Satsuki) for anon

She sees through the way he obscures his meanings with lies and half-truths and implications; no one has ever been able to do it so efficiently before, even Seto—it's beyond irritating. But she's too dangerous, knows too much already, for him to shake her off or even want her gone—and that's the only reason, okay? She makes him uneasy, but her absence makes him even more uneasy.

Her eyes glow in the dim light when they're debating basketball plays, listening to the game on the radio and then turning it off at halftime, constructing and deconstructing mental images of how things played out without having seen them, gesturing with their hands—they could be working or sleeping or doing something else entirely but they're preoccupied with debate, with being right, with each other.

She's rougher than he'd figured, meets his moves with her own, strikes first some of the time—her long nails are talons and her limbs are small but strong; she can handle him and that is perhaps what scares him the most about her.

* * *

90\. Cat Meets Cat (Hayama Kotarou/Koganei Shinji)

Their faces are alike but different; their bodies move in a similar, almost feline way. Koganei can't tell if he likes it or not, to be honest. It's not enough that Hayama's the better forward; his eyes gleam almost crazily, the same way his teeth do—he can almost feel them cut into his skin from across the court like the ends of the wires he used to wind around tennis rackets that poked into his skin and made him wince and shudder. His trajectory is that of a tennis ball, fast and incomprehensible to Koganei; he wonders if, like the tennis ball, it's not worth it to just keep chasing when he'll never catch up. But Hayama's a hell of a lot more captivating, more like a laser if Koganei was being fair to him. Besides, once he gets close enough and they stop circling around each other, it turns out he knows exactly what Hayama wants and Hayama knows exactly what he wants.

Of course, whether they'll get around to doing all of it is another matter entirely, but Koganei can more than make do with Hayama licking his ear in just that particular way.

* * *

91\. Wrapped Around Your Finger (Himuro Tatsuya/Mibuchi Reo) for anon

Is he doing this on purpose? If he is, how much of it is he doing on purpose? It's hard to say; Tatsuya's so unreadable, and captivatingly so. His expression is placid, with perhaps the barest hint of a smile (or maybe Reo's imagining things again) and their knees are so close together that Reo can feel the heat from Tatsuya's skin. Tatsuya's wearing one of Reo's shirts; it's slightly too big for him and reveals too much and too little at once. It's unfair; he has to know what he's doing—and he has to know that Reo's already his.

Reo's aware he's been staring at Tatsuya's profile; still, he blushes when Tatsuya looks up from the pages of his magazine, amusement now clearly in his face.

"Yes?" he says.

Reo buries his face in Tatsuya's shoulder. Tatsuya strokes his hair and lets out a soft laugh.

"I'm going to get a swelled head, you know," he says.

"Shut up."

Tatsuya hums. Reo wonders if Tatsuya can feel his face burn brighter against his skin.

* * *

92\. Enjoying the Night (Takao Kazunari/Izuki Shun) for anon

It started with a "Hawk-Eye've been on the lookout for you," and an hour later Izuki's sure that Haizaki's not the only one who steals moves. Takao's been snatching the puns right out of his mouth (literally, too, swallowing them in kisses and then saying them while Izuki catches his breath) and Izuki's ready to concede, only he's not sure what he has left to give up. He can't even ascertain whether he has anything or not because Takao's mouth is doing those wonderful things to his thighs and he has no idea when his clothes came off and that thought is more coherent than most of the other things going on in his head.

"You're pretty fly, Shun-chan," says Takao as he wriggles out of his pants.

"Well," says Izuki, slowly regaining his breath, "you're not so hawkward yourself."

"Wow, you're on point tonight," says Takao, and before Izuki can respond their mouths are pressed together again.

Takao grinds his hips against Izuki's; Izuki moans into his mouth and tightens his grip on Takao's arms. Takao sighs; his tongue is moving as voraciously as ever and his chest is sweaty, smacking against Izuki's. Takao breaks the kiss and leans back; he's a vision like this to say the least, naked and grinning with his legs spread and his mouth quirked upwards and then he inches back toward Izuki and takes both of their cocks between his palms.

The callouses on his hand aren't too rough and he doesn't squeeze too hard but just enough for the friction to be sweet—but it's not enough. Somehow, even this is teasing, and Takao knows it; his eyes dance and his smile is too cruel. How can he stand it himself?

As if in reply, he speeds up his stroking; Izuki lets out a half-squeak half-moan and lurches forward.

Takao laughs, speeds up; through his half-closed eyes

* * *

93\. Always (Kagami Taiga/Fukuda Hiroshi)

Kagami can't express himself well. He's not used to saying these kinds of things, especially not in Japanese. Fukuda tries to be patient among his many doubts; it wouldn't be fair to Kagami to demand things from him that he is not capable of, especially when he is capable of so much. Even when he does manage to say it in a way that Fukuda can understand, it's still filled with caveats; he says "always" but does he really mean it? Is it just a placeholder for a different word, an approximation? So many people say it and mean it but it changes, fracturing later into two timelines, a before and an after, not remaining as a promised continuum. But the future is murky in so many ways, and it's much more complex and hard to comprehend than Kagami is. For all of his stuttering and blustering, he's still quite simple. And he means forever when he says it, the words falling from his lips and pooling somewhere deep and warm inside of Fukuda where he knows it's going to be okay. He can put his faith in Kagami as much as Kagami can put his faith in Fukuda. They've done it in basketball; they can do it like this. Isn't it much easier when there's no buzzer?

* * *

94\. Young (Wakamatsu Kousuke/Susa Yoshinori)

Wakamatsu's face is red and his breaths come shallow and sloppy and uneven as he presses his mouth against Susa's jaw and throat and tries to fist his awkwardly large hand in the opening between the buttons in Susa's shirt but just grabs air, sense of perception warped from the darkness and the beer and a million other things; he closes his eyes and buries his face in Susa's shoulder and Susa rocks him back and forth, pulling Wakamatsu closer with one arm and squeezing his ass with the other hand. Wakamatsu's heart thumps against Susa's skin and his groans are hardly muffled (even when he's quiet, he's loud) his mouth is soaking through Susa's shirt and Susa doesn't give a shit. They're young and drunk and in lust and however much their touching it still isn't enough.

* * *

95\. Faultlines (Aomine Daiki/Himuro Tatsuya)

Plenty of people call Daiki an idiot, but no one does it quite the way Tatsuya does. The way he says the word is practically overflowing with some bizarre kind of saccharine affection, and it's reserved for very rare occasions—with Satsuki or Wakamatsu, it might as well be his actual name. Tatsuya usually calls him Daiki or (when he's feeling sarcastic) Dear. Aomine might be an idiot, but he knows that Tatsuya exercises quite a lot of patience with him, and trying that patience rarely gets a rise out of him. It's not that Tatsuya's a pushover; he's dangerous. But he won't give up on Daiki, knows the faultlines in his own loyalty but refuses to acknowledge them, and Daiki values that far more than he may seem to.

* * *

96\. Wings (Nakamura Shinya/Hayakawa Mitsuhiro)

Nakamura's ordinary, he sits in the middle of the classroom and gets comfortably decent grades and eats his boring packed lunch every day and has a few friends and has an obsession of sorts (that would be basketball) but just keeps it tucked in the back of his mind the way he does all of his emotions; he's always in a state of half-composure. He's always firmly on the ground, thinks about the sky occasionally, how he can't jump high enough to block sometimes and how he can't even begin to think about the sky because he can't get a third of a third of the way there.

But Hayakawa and all of his over-boiling enthusiasm completely unravel him and make him delusional; Hayakawa's hand grabs his and suddenly Nakamura feels like maybe he's going to sprout wings and they'll fly into the clouds together, soaked from the condensation but Hayakawa will keep him from caring, shouting in his ears and pulling their bodies together because despite being soaked to the bone he radiates heat like Nakamura's personal star.

* * *

97\. Eternity (Alexandra Garcia)

She dreams sometimes that she can see again, that even if she's wearing glasses they don't make a difference but her peripheral vision is perfect and the colors are sharp and there is a perfect clarity and everything is perfect.

She wakes up to the beep of her phone's alarm, blurry display as she wipes her finger across the screen, desperately trying to swipe it the right way to get the damn thing to shut off and after however long that takes she reaches for her glasses and puts them on and her world comes back into the sort-of-focus it's been in for the past ten years and she wills herself not to cry.

There might be a different world somewhere where she can still see, is still playing professionally, but it's not this one and there's no use in mourning something that is lost to eternity, has been lost an eternity already. Time is wasting.

* * *

98\. Wait (Murasakibara Atsushi/Aomine Daiki)

They don't wait for each other but they don't really take it personally when the other doesn't wait for them; they let everything slide and don't push the issue. Neither one of them is especially passive-aggressive; they just don't give a damn most of the time. It's a comfortable way of being, and they put just enough faith in each other that it works. They don't speak with words; they use routines and signals and simple things, locked fingers and open doors and raw kisses and hips grinding so hard and hot it could start a fire.

* * *

99\. Sight (Imayoshi Shouichi/Alexandra Garcia)

She goes fishing with him, sits on the edge of the pier, bare feet with dirt-covered bottoms dangling off; her toes are pointed gracefully. She takes off her glasses and puts them beside her, trusting that he will not break them—he's asked her if she thinks this is wise and she shrugs. She's staring off into the blue blur, sky and sea indistinguishable to her. It must be, because her prescription is much stronger than his and he cannot tell the difference with his glasses off (she snatched them off of him once and repeated his question but he did not have to answer; she knew he knew she would not break them or drop them). He stares, too, sometimes, when the fish aren't biting and her hand on his thigh has stilled. Sometimes it's hazy, too polluted, but sometimes the sun is so bright he has to duck his head (he wonders if she's closing her eyes). He's come to enjoy these days more than the ones he spends alone, still—he has better luck fishing on those days but it's just not to worth it. He must be just another fool to have fallen for her, but perhaps it doesn't matter.

* * *

100\. Less Than Absolute (Akashi Seijuurou/Midorima Shintarou) for anon

Words ring hollow like the church bells—his parents were Christian; they gave him a religious funeral. The shell was lying in the coffin and the eyes were closed; Akashi had long since memorized the contours of his face, now pinched thin from months of sickness. This was beautiful in an awful, aching way, not like the way Shintarou was beautiful—Akashi's eyes had blurred momentarily when Shintarou had been so precise and sharp, so careful.

His words, of absolution and control, now taste sour on his lips. He maintains the illusion when he meets with potential business partners, looks out for blood in the water, but doubt lies in the shadows, tinged with green, catching his eyes—it's foolish to believe that they will meet again (for all of their years together, Shintarou never convinced Akashi of his belief in the supernatural) but he wants to believe it, so badly, within the deep recesses of himself, to see those bandaged fingers sliding across the shogi board one more time, to see the motion of those thin lips, to hear Shintarou's voice saying his name. And yet, he can't want it—it's too much, too…impossible. Those feelings are locked behind an iron gate, the key buried in that graveyard.

* * *

101\. Platonic Kisses (Kise Ryouta, Teikou team) for anon

Kise's girlfriend chewing him out in the gym is both a distraction and an amusement—either way, Akashi's going to fucking murder him after she's done. She jabs him in the chest and sneers up at him, flipping her long black hair over her shoulder.

"Modeling job or not, I don't want you kissing anyone else!"

"Really, it was just platonic. Michiko-san is a professional; she has a boyfriend!"

"Who, you?"

"It wasn't real," says Kise.

"A kiss indicates romantic interest," she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

Kise frowns, then turns on his heels. "Midorimacchi!"

"What?" says Midorima. "I'm not going to defend you."

Kise walks over to Midorima, grabs his t-shirt, and pulls him down into a kiss.

Midorima slaps him. Rubbing his face, Kise turns back to his girlfriend. "See? I don't even like Midorimacchi, but I still kissed him."

Midorima looks like he's about to fall over. Kise's girlfriend looks absolutely bewildered. Kise walks over to Aomine and kisses him before he can figure out what's going on.

"Kise, what the hell?" says Aomine, making a show of wiping his mouth.

Murasakibara is next; his reaction is positive—he kisses back with tongue. Kise himself looks a little bit shocked, and Murasakibara licks his lips.

"Kise-chin tasted good, like apple candy."

Kise approaches Akashi apprehensively; Akashi raises an eyebrow. "If you're going to do it, Kise, do it. Your practice schedule will be adjusted accordingly."

Kise leans in and pecks Akashi quickly on the lips.

He turns around. "Where's Kurokocchi?"

"I've seen enough," says his girlfriend. "I can't believe you're gay."

"Wait a minute! Tomoko-chan!"

She's already spun on her heels and walked out; the door slams shut behind her.

"I didn't even get to kiss Kurokocchi!" Kise wails.

* * *

102\. Falling Slowly (Himuro Tatsuya/Mibuchi Reo) for anon

Reo's pretty sly; it's hard to tell what he's thinking or planning sometimes—Tatsuya knows very well that people say the same about him, but really most of the time he's not planning much of anything. Reo's much more of a clear and present danger, although a danger to what Tatsuya can't really say—his heart, perhaps, if he was feeling like more of a cliché.

What started out as a default companionship, accompanying Atsushi to Kyoto and palling around with Atsushi's boyfriend's self-appointed guardian, has become at least a little deeper. Sometimes the younger set is less involved in their meetings; sometimes Reo comes alone to Akita and joins Tatsuya for coffee or dinner or a one-on-one. Of course he admires Reo's skills on the court—but it's more than that. Reo's form is beautiful, perfectly studied; he understands Tatsuya's approach. Of course, he's much more talented, but that's neither here nor there—it's hard to begrudge him that.

Is it just friendship, though? If it is, Tatsuya can hardly bear it—Reo can be petty, but he's forgiven many people many things over the years, so even if he doesn't feel the same way with time he'll probably let it go. And if he doesn't, well…Tatsuya will cross that bridge when he comes to it. They're hanging out in Reo's room on a rainy Saturday, listening to pop radio, and Tatsuya puts his hand on Reo's shoulder.

Reo turns, eyes bright and questioning, and Tatsuya leans in and places his mouth on Reo's. His lips are soft and taste of tea, and it takes a few seconds before he kisses back. He's a good kisser, not that Tatsuya's surprised, tongue exacting and lips giving just the right amount of pressure.

They break for air and Reo moves closer, resting his hand on Tatsuya's thigh. He's at a loss for words, but his smile speaks volumes.

* * *

103\. Valentine (Kise Ryouta/Midorima Shintarou) for anon

"You should know I prefer oshiruko," Midorima says when Kise puts the bag of chocolates in his hand.

"I come out of my way to see you in Tokyo and give you my chocolates of love and this is all the thanks I get?" Kise says, puffing out his cheeks. "It's a Valentine's Day tradition."

Midorima sighs. "Fine."

Kise brightens up instantaneously, hugging Midorima so tightly he can barely breathe.

"Calm down," says Midorima, pushing Kise off of him and adjusting the collar on his jacket.

Kise still can't stop grinning, but he waits until Midorima sets the chocolates on the table to grab his hand.

"Come on, let's go on a date."

"Only if you buy me oshiruko," says Midorima.

"Okay," says Kise.

He's about to open the door when Midorima swiftly kisses him on the cheek and mutters a "thanks". When Kise looks back, he's blushing and staring at the ground and Kise feels like his internal organs have all jumbled up and turned to mush.

* * *

104\. Shopping (Kagami Taiga/Mibuchi Reo)

Reo likes the idea of shopping, trying on and buying new clothes and the satisfaction of feeling like he looks good or he's helped someone else look good, but in practice he grows bored with it very quickly. Taiga, on the other hand, loves shopping, and though seeing him try on new outfits is fun (he's got a great fashion sense) he just wants to swipe his credit card and leave so they can do something else (especially because Taiga takes too damn long fussing with his outfit in the changing room). He'll have time to wear these outfits and mix and match them later and it's going to look great, but he looks almost too good, good enough for Reo to want those clothes off right now.

But Reo keeps going; Taiga always wants him to come along so he can get a second opinion (and to show off as well; he's not totally insecure) and it's not worth it to disappoint him. His broad, easy smile is totally worth it (and they go shopping for groceries afterward, which more than cancels out the clothes-shopping-induced boredom).

* * *

105\. Sorrow (Shirogane Eiji/Aida Riko)

Her small hand is steady on his waist; her gaze is set straight in front of her. Her expression gives him the strength to hold his own head up a little bit higher—even though Riko didn't know his brother well, her presence reassures him that despite all the sorrow and regret and mourning and shock there is something to steady his rudder and keep him on course; he's fallen into the waves and her grip is as tight as iron shackles around him, keeping him from being submerged. After all, she is no stranger to sorrow—he remembers, if she does not, seeing her at her mother's funeral, placid expression and folded hands. The memory of that, too, of her maturity even at that age (sometimes he wonders if he actually is the older one) is one he thinks of, has been thinking of, ever since Kouzou's second heart attack, ever since he began to fear the worst.

And that's exactly why he can sob in her arms, let out these ugly sounds into the empty night of their bedroom, without shame or fear or apology, with only anguish.

* * *

106\. Cast (Kagami Taiga/Himuro Tatsuya)

The die has been cast—again. Change is inevitable, irreversible, but they already know that too well, don't they? It's enough to make half of Tatsuya fearless and the other half completely terrified, because he knows what happens when he casts it with shaking hands, hastily and fucking everything up.

But this time he's not casting it alone; Taiga takes deep breaths and nods and steadies his hands with his own, larger and so much more solid and they lock their eyes and they're in this together no matter what happens and that casts the die right, finally, after years of misunderstandings and miscommunications, as their lips meet over the molten iron.

* * *

107\. Untimed (Susa Yoshinori/Sakurai Ryou)

Their first kiss is like a free throw on home court, crowd hushed and collective breath sucked in and the thump of their hearts is the sound of the ball on the hardwood floor and they raise their hopes like arms in the air and the trajectory is ethereal, mouth on mouth and ball spinning through the air surely, landing with a swish—it's the way Sakurai always throws them, in the still gym after practice is over with eyes set like steel and as if he's almost a machine or in the games, even the away game where the crowd is deafening but he's in a soundproof world of his own—only he's brought Susa into that world without a shot clock or a buzzer and it's the most amazing thing.

* * *

108\. Sugar Daddy (Imayoshi Shouichi/Hanamiya Makoto) for anon

Makoto sighs. It's not that schoolwork is hard for someone of his level of intelligence, it's just…tedious. He really doesn't need a degree to be qualified for the business world, but unfortunately the rest of the world doesn't see it that way.

Makoto sighs and slumps against the couch cushions. He looks quite cute with his cheeks puffed out like that and his eyebrows knitted. Shouichi reaches over and tucks a lock of hair behind Makoto's ear.

"What's the matter?"

Makoto glowers at Shouichi, almost reaches out to slap away his hand—either his reflexes are getting worse or he's gotten so used to Shouichi's touch that he doesn't feel the need to shove him away as strongly. Or, most likely, he enjoys it and has terrible acting skills. Shouichi returns to answering an e-mail from his publisher; yes, the manuscript is delayed but he's established himself well enough to afford the luxury of crying writer's block.

Makoto sighs again. "This work is so dull. I know how to do it; it's tedious and not challenging."

Shouichi hums. Makoto's "I'm-too-smart-for-school" shtick has gotten pretty old at this point, but it's still amusing and he might actually be right. At any rate, his grades are excellent, which makes his tuition lighter, which makes Shouichi happy and gives him an excuse to spend money on Makoto in other ways. It's very amusing to see Makoto unsure of whether to show ingratitude or act spoiled—and this all comes back to how adorable he is, as he is now, typing furiously away on the computer.

* * *

109\. Overwhelming (Takao Kazunari/Aida Riko/Midorima Shintarou) for anon

Takao might be even better at kissing than he is talking; either way he's had lots of practice with his mouth and is clearly proud of it. Riko can barely breathe at the rate he's attacking her lips, tongue moving faster than she can track. It's not that she can't handle it, no way. She most definitely can. It's just that—his lips and Midorima's hands, moving up and down her sides and her legs, are equally distracting and equally amazing. She's known for a while that he can play the piano, and it's as if he's playing some sort of piece on her body, like her body is an instrument and she can't figure out how to move with him, her body going in all different directions. She's sighing and moaning and wailing into Takao's math, embarrassed by how loud she's become, trying to silence herself.

Takao breaks their contact; she opens her eyes and he's smiling at her. "It's okay, Riko-chan, the sounds you're making are beautiful."

She wants to tell him to address her more properly—but then again this situation is hardly proper, is it? Midorima kisses the inside of her thigh, and she squeaks and pulls Takao back down; she knows it won't stop him from seeing her like this because of the hawkeye but it'll make her feel a bit better and that's all she can really do right now.

* * *

110\. Clocks (Nijimura Shuuzou/Aomine Daiki)

The sun is setting when he stirs and raises his head, long fingers that had been splayed on Shuuzou's chest curling into a fist. The orange rays of the streaking late spring sun filter through the panes of the gym and give visibility to the countless pieces of dust in the air. He's only been asleep for an hour and a half, but both of them should have gone home already—practice ended two hours ago.

But they had stayed, cherishing the precious few moments they could catch together. Already Shuuzou feels the pressures of time; his parents come home later and later each night and his father's cough worsens and his hair is streaked with gray; his sister is almost as tall as his mother now and stares longingly at stiletto heels in the windows of department stores; he has less than a year left here and he's not sure that's enough. There's not enough time to set everything in motion and make sure the kids can stand on their own; they're more than capable in some ways and completely unprepared in others.

Daiki yawns and smiles at Shuuzou, blindingly bright and beautiful, and Shuuzou flicks his forehead.

"You slept too long."

Daiki's shirt is rumpled and his brilliant hair is sticking up at funny angles and as they haul themselves up Shuuzou sneaks in a quick kiss to the top of his head.

* * *

111\. Cones (Wakamatsu Kousuke/Sakurai Ryou)

Sakurai looks so fucking cute with a smudge of pistachio ice cream on his nose that Wakamatsu wants to die. He sinks down in his seat, aware of the way his cheeks feel too hot, hotter than hot even though the sun is scorching and his ice cream is melting—that's still no excuse.

"Um, Kousuke-san, your ice cream is dripping."

"I know!" Wakamatsu snaps, and then he cringes as Sakurai flinches.

Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it. "I'm sorry," they both say at the same time.

Sakurai offers a cautious smile. Before he can stop himself, Wakamatsu leans over and licks the ice cream off.

Sakurai drops his cone. Wakamatsu crushes his own in his fist. Sakurai's far too cute to exist.

* * *

112\. Advantage (Takao Kazunari/Kawahara Kouichi)

Takao wants to say he has the advantage here, that he thinks of sharper comebacks quicker and that he's got Kawahara wrapped around his finger, but that's not exactly the truth. It's more the other way around than he'll ever let anyone know, except Kawahara always has this wicked ear-to-ear grin and Takao wonders if he knows—he doesn't know if he should ask Kuroko and what kind of can of worms that would open, and it's hard enough thinking straight anyway when he just wants to hear Kawahara's laugh or see him shrug his shoulders in that way and when he's trying not to run his hand over Kawahara's ultra-short hair. He can't even take comfort in the fact that he's the better basketball player, even though he's constantly showing off in ways he probably shouldn't—on the court, Kawahara's a machine, doesn't raise an eyebrow at Takao's fancy dribble or no-look pass, just guards his man and watches the ball.

Well, Takao's never been one to back down from a challenge.

* * *

113\. Details (Kiyoshi Teppei/Kagami Taiga)

The twitch of his mouth when he's tasting the dish he's making and it's not quite what he wanted or expected, the way he winds his finger through the chain around his neck and twists, the furrow of his brow and the way he juts out his chin when he's perplexed and trying to figure something out—just one of these small details is enough to make Teppei's face break out into a goofy grin and his hands twitch, subconsciously reaching for him—he doesn't mind when Taiga notices him looking and blushes (although most of the time he doesn't, so intent on the task at hand or whatever is running through his mind that he doesn't feel Teppei's gaze). He's beautiful and wonderful and he shares these details, these personal bits of himself, is so unguarded and precious—it fills Teppei with a warmth (almost) entirely unrelated to Taiga's body heat.

* * *

114\. City (Imayoshi Shouichi/Sakurai Ryou)

The cracked asphalt streets of his calloused palm, the high-rises of his curled fingers, the bridge of his thumb over the wrinkled sheet—Imayoshi's hand is a city. Sakurai stares at it in rapture, afraid even to breathe, committing it to memory, thinking of the way it will feel in his palm, under his pencil and on the page, of all the times he will draw it (because he will, from memories laid over one another like stacked-up sheets of paper). He will remember the angle of the sun through the window and the shadows it casts and the slope of Imayoshi's thin wrist and the color of the sheets and he will remember the pleasant ache of his body and the previous night and reflexively touch the dents in his shoulder from Imayoshi's nails (which will have faded, but he will remember the grooves under his fingertips and the exact spots on his skin). And he will remember the ghost of a genuine smile on Imayoshi's lips, the feeling of having seen it but not quite captured it with his mind, not transferable to the pencil. But he will think mostly about the city contained in an upturned hand.


	3. March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> contains works published March 2014

115\. Roots (Ogiwara Shigehiro/Mochida)

He's ripped up his roots so many times now; his dad has transferred from city to city—almost five years in Tokyo and that was six times more than the longest they'd ever stayed anywhere else. It was stupid of him to assume that they'd stay, stupid of him to allow himself to grow attached, to place his roots down and deep, to cling to the soil as they left, even after all that happened—he could not stop the sap flowing out of him, the pain and then the numbness, too soon after everything.

His return is not without hesitation, but Mochida has tended to the soil, has made sure there's still a place for him in his life, and before he knows it Ogiwara's laying down roots again, intertwining them with Mochida's again—he feels the stubs he ripped out when he left but before he can properly feel guilty, Mochida soothes him and tends to him. He wonders what he did to deserve something this good, and then decides to stop questioning it—once more his smiles come easy and he feels warm inside and he might as well enjoy it, because whether he deserves it or not Mochida deserves to be with someone warm and open and receptive, who meets his placid caution with something a bit more volatile. After all, it worked for them before.

* * *

116\. Hide (Omuro Yoshikasu/Sakamoto Kenjirou)

It's damn hard to hide their relationship from overly-nosy freshmen like Tsugawa, who always seems to take the least-opportune moment to barge in on them. At least he's oblivious, wrapped up in something he just has to tell them, although he's also a total blabbermouth and frequently asks them why they're always alone together.

It wouldn't be terrible if everyone knew, necessarily—but they just don't know how everyone will react. And Sakamoto at least wants Omuro to himself, wants to be able to keep the way he loves those warm brown eyes and supple lips to himself for at least a little longer. And maybe some of them do know—Iwamura, probably, and he seems to be giving a tacit acknowledgement for now. But not everyone's that cool with stuff like this, so for now they'll wait until their luck runs out and sneak in small touches and kisses where they can.

* * *

117\. Cold (Furihata Kouki/Mochida)

Mochida anticipates the issues before they occur, has handwarmers ready when Furihata forgets his gloves and those turn into Mochida's own hands with time, firm and calloused and stuffed together with Furihata's in the warm woolen pockets of Mochida's pea coat. This thoughtfulness and confidence is perhaps what Furihata likes the best about Mochida (and probably what made him such a capable basketball captain), although he's not sure how to express it. It seems like he's picked up on Furihata's feelings; Furihata tentatively squeezes his hand, face heating up despite the subzero temperature, and Mochida smiles at him.

* * *

118\. Envy (Aida Kagetora/Izuki Shun)

Tora envies Shun his youth, some of the time. He envies a bit of his naiveté, his enthusiasm, his energy. He doesn't envy him his position, falling in love with someone twice his age, but Shun is frank and unashamed of his feelings, showing them and embellishing them with his terrible jokes—and his beauty. That's another thing Tora doesn't envy. After all, it's easy for him to enjoy this kind of beauty when he can see it for himself, touch it, feel it, the way Shun turns his head to the side or that grin he gets when he's about to tell a particularly bad pun or the exposed pale flatness of his stomach when he raises his arms to make a shot and his shirt is too small or the way he drinks from a glass and water clings to his top lip, because Tora's the one who gets to watch him turn and cover his mouth before he can say it and feel the curve of those lips beneath his palm and touch the smooth hipbone and kiss those gorgeous lips until they're dry.

* * *

119\. Fall (Moriyama Yoshitaka/Izuki Shun)

"I think I'm falling for you," says Izuki, dramatically dumping an armful of red leaves onto Moriyama's lap.

Moriyama opens his mouth but says nothing; he's supposed to be the one who makes the dramatic gestures and says the cheesy lines. He's never prepared to be on the other end.

On the other hand, does it matter as long as these things get said and they both enjoy them? Does it matter who says them if both of their hearts are beating faster anyway. So he grabs Izuki and pulls him into his lap on top of the leaves, quashing his arguments with a kiss.

* * *

120\. Exploration (Momoi Satsuki/Susa Yoshinori)

They explore each other's bodies with a kind of hesitant wonder, that perhaps they're dreaming and they'll wake up with a hand in the air looking up at thin air and a white ceiling above them in the darkness of the early morning, but no matter how hard they press hands and eyes and lips they don't jerk forward into reality. They're both sweating; the thermostat in this dorm room's been broken since before Susa moved in, and it makes them all the more eager to take off their clothes. Momoi knows all of his data but this is the first time she's seeing him right in front of her, the exactness of the rise and fall of his bare chest and the smoothness of his abs—he has tried his best (and failed) to not imagine her, but she does not disappoint, the curves of the muscles of her shoulder and the swoop of her breasts (but she is much more than contours). She raises a hand first, brings his chin down to face her and their lips connect; hands tangle in hair and move their way down again and it doesn't matter where they left off because they'll get there again.

* * *

121\. Touch (Araki Masako/Momoi Satsuki)

Masako is stingy with her hands, does not touch very often—she'll lightly press on Satsuki's shoulder if she wants something or reach for her hand on rare occasions when they're watching a movie in the dark or something. At least she doesn't touch other people, either, preferring to use her sword or her words to get their attention. But when she does touch Satsuki, her fingers are careful and meaningful; they carry an electricity that never fails to affect Satsuki deep down even if it's just a light brush of fingertips over her ear or lips. Masako's eyes betray her, faint amusement evident through her lashes, and Satsuki doesn't really mind that much. It's a tradeoff she's willing to make.

* * *

122\. Asphalt (Nebuya Eikichi/Kiyoshi Teppei)

It's like scraping his knee on the asphalt, like when he was a kid and still so weak, lunging at the hoop and throwing the ball almost high enough to scrape the bottom of the backboard and falling forward; it's a dirty, gaping wound. It reminds him terribly of his shortcomings, this pounding of his heart—he can't control it, can't make it slow down; he's an athlete and his resting pace should be way slower than this. He feels Kiyoshi's thumb against his hand, and it's tapping fast on his palm so maybe he's not the only one who's out of whack with these feelings, but Kiyoshi's soft smile and strong words are enough to distract Nebuya from his heartbeat for the time being.

* * *

123\. Perfect Fit (Furuhashi Koujirou) for anon

Two days into the high school experience and Koujirou is completely unimpressed with what Kirisaki Daiichi has to offer. Sure, there are the requisite connections and the classes at least attempt to be challenging, but most of the teachers are failures (those who can, do, and those who don't, teach after all) and his classmates are the expected collection of brown-nosers, spoiled brats who have free reign of Mommy and Daddy's bank accounts, and suitably boring others who aren't even worth labeling.

Hanamiya Makoto is firmly in the second category; he's quite eager to show off his intelligence but it's clear he's been highly praised for it by whatever lackeys his parents hired to raise him. He's got prime cuts of meat for lunch and wears Italian loafers that Koujirou's sure haven't gone on sale to the public yet—but Koujirou has no intention of getting to know this person or faking a friendship with him. He may be slightly more interesting than everyone else in the class, but it's not as if that's a great distinction. The curious thing about Hanamiya is that he seems to be watching everyone else—for what, Koujirou doesn't know. He's not sure if it's worth finding out or not yet.

On the third morning, Koujirou trips the chief of the nerds, Kikuchi, as she walks past his desk. She faceplants and her skirt flies up, revealing polka-dot briefs. Not too bad. By the time Kikuchi gets up, Koujirou's face is buried in a book and even as she glares at him he casually turns the page. She can't prove anything. As she resumes flouncing to the front of the room, he feels a pair of eyes still on him—Hanamiya's.

Hanamiya approaches him during lunch break, plopping down in the seat next to him before he can make a flimsy excuse to get away.

"Furuhashi, isn't it?"

Koujirou shrugs.

"Have you ever thought about playing basketball?"

Koujirou blinks. He's played it in gym before, but like everything else it had been boring—although it had been easy to get into a tangle of bodies and send people crashing to the ground and make it look like an accident.

"Tryouts are this afternoon in the gym," says Hanamiya. "I think your skills would be an excellent addition to the team."

* * *

124\. Monopoly (Hanamiya Makoto/Mibuchi Reo/Hayama Kotarou) for anon

Makoto places a hand to his temple and sighs. Reo's just so damn annoying sometimes with his constant hovering over Kotarou. It's like he thinks he's Kotarou's mother or something, and that opens up a whole new Oedipal can of worms. The worst part isn't Reo's chatter, though, or his overdramatic expression; it's that he's trying to monopolize Kotarou. Everytime Makoto so much as says something to him, Reo jumps in and won't stop. Makoto would love to know who Reo thinks he is in this situation—he's not Kotarou's only boyfriend. And Kotarou has the nerve to play along with him, too (even though he's a brat, he's Makoto's brat).

Kotarou pricks his ears up and turns to face Makoto, throwing his arms around Makoto's midsection (way too tightly).

"Kotarou, don't do that," Reo says. "Mako-chan doesn't like that."

"Funny, I don't remember letting you decide what I liked," says Makoto, tucking his hand into the waistband of Kotarou's jeans.

Kotarou snuggles closer into Makoto's chest and beams up at him. Makoto smirks at Reo.

"Mako-chan, what is this about?"

"Don't play dumb, Reo. It's unattractive."

Reo scowls and crosses his arms. "Are you jealous? Mako-chan, that's even more unattractive."

Makoto rolls his eyes.

"Yup, Mako-chan's jealous," says Kotarou. "It's okay, though, because when he's jealous he's affectionate."

Makoto shoves Kotarou away. "I am not."

He mutters a curse under his breath as his face heats up.

It's too late; Reo snakes one arm around his waist and the other around Kotarou's, drawing them both close to him. Makoto struggles, but Reo's grip is way too damn strong.

* * *

125\. Cheer Up (Aomine Daiki/Kasamatsu Yukio) for anon

Aomine sighs. The trials of being him are numerous, and they include a boyfriend who is both clueless about his own sex appeal and not even half as horny as Aomine is. There's no reason his shirt should be that far open or that his hair should be ruffled that perfectly; he can't take his eyes off of Kasamatsu—and Kasamatsu looks up and glares at him.

"Oi, stop looking at me like that."

The light blush on his cheeks is irresistibly cute, and Aomine wants to say something—but he'll get kicked into next week and he definitely won't be getting any tonight. He probably won't, anyway, because Kasamatsu won't be in the mood, but there's always a possibility.

"Hey, what's bugging you?" Kasamatsu asks, putting down the newspaper.

His eyebrows are raised and he actually looks kind of worried—and it's way too goddamn cute. His wrists on the counter across from Aomine are too much; Aomine grabs them and leans over to kiss Kasamatsu. Kasamatsu struggles to free his arms from Aomine's grasp even as he kisses back, lips chapped but mouth wet and warm and delicious. He finally pulls away, picking up the newspaper and swatting Aomine on the head with it. It's a halfhearted attempt at best; Aomine smirks. He should know better than to underestimate his own charms.

* * *

126\. Different (Mibuchi Reo/Momoi Satsuki) for anon

Some men are so full of shit. They think they're being considerate by smiling and nodding when a woman talks, not actually taking in a word she's saying or really considering her opinions on anything valid but thinking their smarm will lead to sex or romance or friendship or a reputation or something. At first, Satsuki had pegged Mibuchi as that guy but then they actually talked—and she'd realized that she was wrong.

Mibuchi's not especially nice, but he's real, and he really listens. He's respectful without being sleazy, charming without being suspect. He gossips, but it's not completely mean-spirited and he sure as hell doesn't judge her for doing it. Not to mention he's easy on the eyes—but Satsuki stops herself. She's fairly certain he's not into women and she's also 100% certain of her feelings for Tetsu-kun. It's a non-issue, isn't it?

When his hand captures hers, long tapered fingers and firm palm, and his lips ghost over her ear, she realizes she's wrong yet again. That's three times in such a short span; she must be losing her touch.

Of course, she knows exactly how soft his lips will be when they meet hers and how many seconds will pass before he slides his tongue into her mouth and where on her waist his hands will settle. (She does not anticipate the softness of his gaze, though, or the reverence in his voice as he says her name.)

* * *

127\. Princess (Mayuzumi Chihiro/Takao Kazunari/Kuroko Tetsuya) for anon

There's "aversion to one's own kind" and then there's this, Kuroko and Mayuzumi's absolute loathing of one another, the permanent glares they wear in the other's presence and the snippy remarks that evolve into full-blown arguments in an instant and the constant tension in the air. It's exhausting; Takao doesn't even want to know what they're arguing about anymore. All he wants is for them to be quiet.

He turns around to face them. "If you two don't stop it, I'll get Miyaji-senpai to run you over with a truck," Takao snaps.

For a moment, both Kuroko and Mayuzumi are silent.

"Well, anything to please the princess," says Mayuzumi.

Takao blinks.

"Yes, Takao-kun is rather like a princess," says Kuroko, pressing a kiss to the back of his knuckles.

"Hey," Takao huffs.

"It's a compliment, darling," says Mayuzumi, taking his other hand and interweaving their fingers.

Both of their mouths are almost on his cheeks now, and he finds himself blushing and at a loss for words. At least they're not arguing now.

* * *

128\. Shogi (Akashi Seijuurou/Hanamiya Makoto) for anon

Akashi slides a tile along the board. "Tsumi."

Hanamiya growls and clenches his fists. The desire to flip the shogi board over Akashi's head is strong, but he reminds himself that it would accomplish absolutely nothing. Akashi's still won seven out of seven games, calmly smirking the whole time.

"Come now, Makoto, won't you concede? It's bad sportsmanship to go on when you've already lost."

Hanamiya sighs. "You're right. I've been so immature about this…"

He pauses and lets his shoulders slump before drawing them up again and crossing his arms.

"Idiot. Like I'd really say that."

Akashi barely lifts an eyebrow. "Well, it's too close to the truth for you to actually mean it."

Hanamiya grits his teeth. This little shit, who does he think he fucking is? What a stupid, spoiled brat, thinking things can go his way all the time. Who does he think he's calling immature?

Akashi sweeps the tiles into a bag. "Well, you've given me more of a challenge than most opponents, but ultimately I am absolute. And I wouldn't try to stomp on my foot under the table if I were you, Makoto."

Hanamiya fights to keep a neutral expression as Akashi gets up.

"You're cute when you're mad."

He leans over and kisses Hanamiya; Hanamiya's about to chomp on his lip before he withdraws and Hanamiya's teeth clack together and he winces.

"Fuck you," Hanamiya spits out.

Akashi's still smirking.

* * *

129\. Thirsting (Murasakibara Atsushi/Midorima Shintarou) for anon

His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are glazed and unfocused, fluttering closed without his glasses—Murasakibara kisses Midorima's eyelashes; they're long and enticing the way they flutter and Midorima squirms underneath him, a low growl emitting from his throat. His hips fit comfortably in Murasakibara's hands; he's too skinny—he needs to eat more. Still, he tastes delicious; Murasakibara's mouth moves back down to Midorima's lips; Midorima kisses back and pulls Murasakibara down so their chests are touching.

Murasakibara breaks the kiss; at this proximity he's pretty sure Midorima can see his eyes clearly. Midorima's cheeks flush even redder and he tries to move his eyes away but he can't (he really is too cute).

Murasakibara trails kisses down Midorima's chest, smiling at each sigh and moan and wriggle and the way Midorima arches his back. He reaches Midorima's cock and licks up and down the length as Midorima spreads his legs. He's open and ready and wanton, and Murasakibara can't really wait, either. He hastily shoves his fingers inside Midorima's hole; Midorima's cries are pained.

Their mouths meat again; Murasakibara swallows Midorima's sounds while he establishes a rhythm with his fingers. When he feels he's prepared him enough, he withdraws and breaks the kiss again.

Midorima mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like "lube", and Murasakibara sighs. It's really not necessary; he can still fit inside. But then again, it will make Midorima happy. He hums as he covers his cock, stroking himself and finding a good rhythm—it feels so nice. Midorima coughs. Oh, right.

He positions himself, folding Midorima's legs over his shoulders, and plunges in. Midorima lets out a half-strangled sobbing noise and Murasakibara starts to move inside him. It's always more effective for both of them if he goes out farther and slams in harder (at least, Midorima has fewer complaints) so he does that, coming almost all the way out and then thrusting his hips. Midorima moves to match him, and again Murasakibara thrusts. Both of them are moaning and sighing; their voices are mixing and at this point Murasakibara can't tell which of them is which.

* * *

130\. Working out Right (Kiyoshi Teppei/Aomine Daiki/Kise Ryouta) for anon

Ryouta always remembers not to put too much pressure on Teppei's knee; he touches it lightly and presses kisses carefully along the scar before working his magic hands and mouth upwards on Teppei's body. Daiki is rougher, messier, and he causes Teppei to yelp in pain sometimes—which is why Ryouta generally makes sure he stays away from Teppei's legs. Still, it's a nice dynamic between the three of them, Ryouta letting Teppei flip him over and thrust into him once Daiki's done and Daiki leaving hickeys and scratch marks all over Teppei's torso. He finds himself tracing them absentmindedly with his hand when he's walking shirtless around the apartment before the two of them come home.

They're both friskier than Teppei; they seem like they're much more than a year younger (or is Teppei much more than a year older?) but he doesn't mind watching sometimes while they get it on without him, and none of them minds it. After all, they both snuggle up to him in their post-coital affectionate haze, and there's more than enough room for both of them in his arms.

* * *

131\. Ears and a Tail (Kagami Taiga/Himuro Tatsuya) for doyoulikecoffee

Taiga comes home to find Tatsuya lounging on the couch wearing only a shirt, and he's about to make a remark about picking up habits from Alex when he notices that Tatsuya's normal pale, fleshy ears have been replaced by a pair of pointed furry black ones atop his head, the same color as his hair.

He gestures wildly at the ears and Tatsuya flattens them. He stands up and Taiga's face heats up when he realizes Tatsuya's not wearing any underwear eather, and is that a tail?

"They're real," says Tatsuya. "I don't know, either."

He flicks the tail back and forth; Taiga is mesmerized.

"You can touch them if you want," says Tatsuya.

Hesitantly, Taiga reaches out a hand to the top of Tatsuya's head. His new ears are soft and silky, and he closes his eye when Taiga starts to rub one. He squeaks when Taiga starts to scratch his head and instinctively leans into the touch. He's just like a cat; Taiga has to laugh.

Tatsuya hums contentedly, drawing his body closer to Taiga's. Taiga can't deny that he's a bit turned on by this—he reaches back and rubs the top of Tatsuya's tail and the area where it meets the skin right above Tatsuya's ass. Tatsuya moans, deep and low; Taiga feels a wetness on his chest—Tatsuya's drool is soaking through his shirt. Tatsuya rolls his hips against Taiga's leg as Taiga continues to rub his ears and his tail, and a few seconds later he's unashamedly humping Taiga's leg in earnest. Taiga's getting hard, too, but he can't slow either his own motions or Tatsuya's and before long Tatsuya comes, collapsing and draping himself over Taiga.

Taiga groans; Tatsuya looks up at him through a still-lusty eye and shoves a hand down Taiga's pants and pulls out his cock. He takes Taiga in his mouth and it's half a minute before Taiga comes into Tatsuya's mouth, hand between those furry ears.

He lies down on the couch and Tatsuya curls up on top of him, flattening his ears and purring before resting his head on Taiga's chest. They'll clean up later, Taiga decides, and that's his last conscious thought before sleep overtakes him.

* * *

132\. It's a Date (Miyaji Kiyoshi/Fukui Kensuke) for acichia

"Hey, Fukui," Miyaji says, scuffing his sneaker on the pavement.

Fukui holds the basketball under his arm and tilts his head up.

"You wanna go to Maji after?"

Fukui smirks; he always looks like he's smirking but this is definitely a full-blown smug smile on his tiny face and Miyaji already wants to punch it off.

"So like a date then?"

Miyaji's face suddenly heats up and he looks up at the sky; Fukui can't see him from this angle. "Who said anything about dating, dumbass?"

"You did. I said one date," says Fukui, and he sounds way too goddamn calm.

Miyaji tries to punch the ball out of Fukui's hands but Fukui's too fast; he drops the ball behind him and grabs Miyaji's wrist, pulling him down to his eye level.

"You're too tall to actually be this cute."

"Who you calling cute? I'll fucking run you over."

"Not you," says Fukui, but he leans up and for a brief moment their lips touch.

Miyaji feels like his brain has gone on the fritz—he most definitely did not want that to be longer and he wants to clobber Fukui and run him over and grab him because he's gone to chase the basketball and he doesn't know what to do so he sinks into a crouch.

"That's a yes, by the way," says Fukui, as he sinks a graceful three and runs a hand through his messy mop of blonde hair and for some reason Miyaji can't look away.

* * *

133\. Garter (Imayoshi Shouichi/Hanamiya Makoto/Mibuchi Reo) for 14-02-21

He didn't expect the garter belts. Granted, he should know by now not to underestimate Imayoshi, and he's been wary of Imayoshi teaming up with Mibuchi. But he didn't expect both of them to show up in his room wearing nothing but panties, stockings, and garter belts. How they got past the servants at all, let alone in that sort of getup, Makoto has no idea—but he can't stop staring and he's sudddenly very grateful for the thick down comforter covering his legs and his groin (there's no way he's turned on by this at all). Both Imayoshi and Mibuchi are smirking; Makoto shudders.

"Oh? What's that, Hana-chan?" Imayoshi asks. "Something the matter?"

"Shut up," says Makoto. "Who let you two in?"

Mibuchi waves a hand. "We let ourselves in."

He waves the spare key in his hand and then drops it. Makoto's about to make a mental note to yell at the servants to pick a better hiding spot next time when Mibuchi bends down to pick up the key, giving Makoto a very clear view of his (absolutely not gloriously firm-looking) ass (he's wearing a thong) and he's definitely taking way too fucking long to pick up the key.

"See something you like?" Imayoshi says.

Makoto swallows and inches back on the bed—but there's nothing but solid wood headboard behind him.

Mibuchi and Imayoshi plop down on the bed on either side of him.

"We're all yours, Mako-chan," says Mibuchi

* * *

134\. Heaven (Nebuya Eikichi/Mibuchi Reo)

Heaven is the particular release of the ball, singing from his fingers through the air when he's untouchable and unreachable and it feels glorious—but it's an artificial type of adrenaline-induced atmospheric paradise. Reo loves basketball, but it's not the be-all and end-all that some people make it out to be. And as sweet as victory is, as sweet as the perfect shot is, the ball rotating through the air in a smooth trajectory and the crowd cheering and the sweat dripping from his hair, it's nothing compared to some moments with Eikichi that sparkle like disco balls in the dimly-lit recesses of his memory. The feeling of Eikichi's arms tightening around his waist, pressing his nose to Eikichi's sternum after they're clean from the shower, and even some particularly dumb things Eikichi has said that aren't really relevant to anything, waving his chopsticks in the air and talking with his mouth full and Reo's stomach has turned and he's felt weightless and incredibly happy anyway.

* * *

135\. Now (Liu Wei/Fukui Kensuke)

The now is only a fraction of time, something that may as well be zero when considering the age of the earth, that may as well mean nothing at the end of his life. Three years in Japan might be such a small fraction that it will be barely worth mentioning—if he lives that long, and so he's trying to stuff as much in it as possible, as many things that will rise to the surface of his mind when he's falling asleep in a different bed where his feet hang farther off the end, as he can. He wonders if Kensuke places as much importance on this as he does, or if he thinks it's all just another joke or some sort of indulgence—but for now he'd rather be in the dark about that and enjoy it. Perhaps in the spring, Kensuke will grin up at him once more and call him a loser and take the train back to his hometown or some other Japanese city for college, and he'll never call or e-mail. Or maybe he won't, but when Wei leaves for home the following year they'll never see each other again. Either possibility is quite real and quite frightening. So while they're still cramped in the shower stall or the small twin bed or the space between walls, he'll make the most out of the lack of space and touch and hold and kiss him until he can't anymore, lace together fingers and trace the outlines of muscle and bone beneath flesh. And maybe he'll fool himself into thinking, just for a moment or two, that it will never end.

* * *

136\. Lazy Morning (Imayoshi Shouichi/Haizaki Shougo/Hanamiya Makoto/Kagami Taiga) for cakechoz

Taiga's defenses are crumbling easier than usual this morning; Shougo's touching and licking him enthusiastically and his crude dirty talk is actually affecting Taiga. He's blushing and squirming under Shougo, even as Makoto sighs and rolls his eyes, pretending he wants to go back to sleep. Shouichi keeps his eyes on the pages of his novel; he would like to finish it this morning but he might not get to.

Taiga moans low and long and Shougo's smirk widens.

"Yeah, you like that, ya dirty slut. It feels good, doesn't it?"

Taiga mumbles something unintelligible as Shougo drags him out from under the covers. Makoto raises his shoulders theatrically, hair spilling over his eyes and he kisses Shougo full-on. Shougo pulls away quickly.

"Your morning breath is disgusting."

"Just shut up already," Makoto says.

"Why, you wanna hear the tiger boy moan better?"

"Your voice is annoying," Makoto says.

Nevertheless, he joins in stroking fingers up and down Taiga's exposed body.

The sounds are getting to be too much, even for Shouichi. With a sigh, he places his book down on the bedside table and reaches over Makoto to shove a hand in Taiga's mouth. He quiets and sucks dutifully on Shouichi's fingers; he's always been so good at that.

Makoto and Shougo both glare at Shouichi; he smiles back. They'll hear Taiga soon enough. Shouichi quickly slips out of his boxers and reveals his length, gesturing to Taiga. Makoto begins to protest, but then Taiga's mouth closes on Shouichi's cock. The hot wetness felt great on his fingers but it feels even better here; Shouichi leans back and grasps the sheets with his hand. Makoto and Shougo drink in the sight as Taiga licks and sucks; Shouichi allows himself some moans and sighs of his own (he can be a drama queen when he wants to be).

A few minutes with Taiga's lips and cheeks and tongue are all he needs; he comes deep into Taiga's throat and Taiga swallows dutifully.

"Good boy," Shouichi says, ruffling his hair.

He picks up his book and shoos Taiga to the other side of the bed; Makoto and Shougo are both starving for him—it's a bit pathetic but Shouichi knows it's his own fault for teasing them so much.

The next time he looks over, they've finished and Taiga is lying with his head on Shougo's chest, eyes half-closed and breathing shallow and steady. Shougo is still smirking at Makoto, who's scowling as he wipes come off of his wrist with his shirt.

Makoto settles down against Shouichi, and the warmth of his body is certainly not unpleasant. The book is done, and it's a lazy Sunday—he might as well join his boys in sleep. He rests his hand on Makoto's waist and takes off his glasses before he lies down and waits for a dream to come.

* * *

137\. Power (Imayoshi Shouichi/Sakurai Ryou) for cakechoz

Imayoshi's not a control freak' at least, he doesn't have to constantly remind everyone he's in control. It's too exhausting and a useless waste of energy and resources—he'd rather actually work on the situation than assert his dominance. He's proud, of course, but there are things that come before pride. Sakurai is different. It doesn't take all that much, if Imayoshi plays his hand right, to bring out Sakurai's stubborn side, and away they go.

Sakurai doesn't insist on topping, at least; he allows Imayoshi that much. He won't let Imayoshi put it in before he's ready (although Imayoshi certainly knows how to be patient) and changes his mind very frequently, although the pattern is starting to become more predictable. Still, it's amusing the way he gets off on control and directing Imayoshi, the way he (correctly) assumes Imayoshi wouldn't normally be bothered with letting him come first, and Imayoshi lets him have his way.

"Don't move," Sakurai says, glaring up at Imayoshi. Imayoshi dips his head in response and Sakurai slowly unclenches around him.

"Now," says Sakurai, and Imayoshi begins.

"Not so fast."

Imayoshi slows; Sakurai meets his rhythm.

"Harder."

Imayoshi complies. He thrusts deeper and Sakurai moans, eyelids fluttering even as he struggles to maintain control. He throws his head back as he comes, Imayoshi picking up speed (he won't notice when he's this wrapped up in himself).

"You can come inside this time," says Sakurai. "That is, if you want."

There is no greater turnoff than Sakurai's easy, submissive side. Nevertheless, he finishes, sliding out of Sakurai still a hot and sticky mess.

Sakurai actually looks quite lovely like this, so it might be all right if he cuddles up to Imayoshi and they sleep like this.

* * *

138\. Sunglasses (Himuro Tatsuya/Alexandra Garcia)

Alex keeps a pair of nonprescription aviator sunglasses in her car; she lets Tatsuya wear them because he's always forgetting or breaking his own. He's always extra-careful with these, puts them back in the glove compartment when they get off and shades his eyes with a hand and his bangs. He used to be able to hide in Alex's shadow, but it's been a long time since then even though he's not used to looking slightly down to meet her eyes and seeing the glare of the sun off her own sunglasses, his reflection at this angle. She still holds his hand when they walk barefoot on the sand but their fingers are locked and they lean inward now. He braids her hair; it's always longer than he anticipates, and she never remembers a hair tie so it comes loose and blows in the wind, mixing with the sand that's the same color as the strands. His fingers catch in it and the sand grates against them and she puts her hands around his neck and their lips meet.

* * *

139\. Impressions (Fukuda Hiroshi/Furihata Kouki)

Fukuda knows Furihata's coffee order, iced with two pumps of syrup, and he knows his favorite radio stations and how he sits when he's reading a great book versus when he's reading a good book. His hand on the small of Furihata's back is light; there's as little pressure as possible, and his smiles are like a sip of hot tea—they always make warmth blossom inside Furihata's stomach and he wants to squeeze his eyes shut for a second. He holds Furihata close but doesn't suffocate him, lets him breathe and lets him speak but respects when he has nothing to say. He still spills crumbs down the front of his shirt, though, and trips over his own feet and is obsessed with styling his hair and has trouble making his shots go in the net even when he's close (Furihata's seen him attempt to dunk; he's tall enough but his accuracy in that is alarmingly low) and he's always running late. But those in the scheme of things are nothing, and the way Furihata feels when he even catches sight of Fukuda overpowers that to the moon and back.

* * *

140\. Eclipse (Himuro Tatsuya/Alexandra Garcia)

She can't tell him that it's like an eclipse when he's not there, that the sunshine in her world is blocked out, that it's dark and bleak. She's not some pretty young thing, too lovesick for her own good—or at least she shouldn't be. She can't tell him about how she stares out the living room window into the red light of the sunset that glares off of her glasses but doesn't shut her eyes because that's the closest she'll get to looking at him. She can't tell him about how his voice echoes across her dreams, the patterns on his palm, the weight of his feet on the ground, running across some make-believe court. It's useless; it will only hold him back.

But then he muffles those thoughts with a kiss and a few words, and she's too optimistic to not clutch onto this shred of hope that somehow, distance and age be damned, they'll make it.

* * *

141\. Serenity (Takao Kazunari/Kuroko Tetsuya)

Kuroko's near-constant serenity is one of the things that make him attractive. Or at least Takao supposes that it is. But it's really his movement on the court, the resolve in those blue eyes, the turn of his shoulder, the things that make him just a little bit more visible, the disruptions in the placid peace of his face and body—those are the things that are most captivating.

Sometimes it's a challenge to bring those out; Takao touches and pokes at Kuroko, presses kisses to his jawline, and he continues to read or sleep or stare into space. But sometimes he lets a flicker of something else cross his face and those moments are what Takao works for, the perfect disruptions. Those are what Takao likes about Kuroko.

* * *

142\. Missed (Alexandra Garcia/Araki Masako)

They've missed so much of each other's lives, the years of development, of experience; they have more wrinkles and longer hair now, cooler expression and more worries and weariness. Perhaps it would have been better if they had been there for each other, to help carry the weights between them and space them out—but perhaps they would have quarreled, as they did when they were young, over petty things, and the wounds would not have had time to heal, would have been too deep; they could not have patched things up between them, have had the perspective to drop pretenses and show humility in front of each other. And it's kind of exciting, too—Alex knows Masako will never tell her she feels that way but she knows she's not the only one who's excited to get to know each other all over again, to fall back into different routines.

* * *

143\. Trust (Susa Yoshinori/Kagami Taiga)

Kagami's not sure why he immediately trusts Susa so much—he's smart; he's sly; he's friends with Imayoshi; he went to fucking Touou—but he does. There's something about the openness of Susa's expression, how excited he gets when they're just talking basketball together, or the careful attention Susa pays him, or something else entirely. It doesn't really matter and he's overthinking it, isn't he? All that counts is that he does trust Susa, that he has faith in their locked-together fingers and that soft smile and those firm words and strong arms.

* * *

144\. Snowdrop (Nijimura Shuuzou/Midorima Shintarou)

Shuuzou breathes out fog and shoves his hands deeper in his pockets; he's always nagging his sister about dressing warmly but apparently he's not one to take his own advice, muttering a swear under his breath. The one time he shows up early, Shintarou doesn't.

He feels a light pressure on his shoulder; speaking of the devil—Shintarou's cheeks are rosy and his eyelashes are covered in snow. Shuuzou grabs the gloved hand on his shoulder and shoves it into the deep pocket of Shintarou's wool coat. The warmth from Shintarou's thigh radiates through the material; he glances slightly upward at Shuuzou, who scowls and looks straight ahead. Damn him.

"You were late."

"I was early. You were earlier."

He's right; he's smug about it, too—but his pocket's warm so Shuuzou can't exactly take out his hand to flick Shintarou's forehead right now. That will just have to wait until later.

* * *

145\. Pirates (Nijimura Shuuzou/Akashi Seijuurou) for anon

This is and is not the man who was once his captain, the man he once captained—his eyes are different; one is colored golden and the other is filled with a vicious hunger and free from the well-bred caution of the still-noble boy who was his first mate. He is taller, stronger—not much, but enough. He's pinning Nijimura to the unsanded boards below (there's a splinter sticking into his back) with just his legs, short thighs spread into almost a split—it's obscene how supple they are; he could spend hours just pressing and pinching them until they bruise (just now he leaped halfway up to the crow's nest from the deck; that shit's impossible even for him).

He still has all of his natural teeth and his face is unblemished; Nijimura is all too aware of the white scar across his left cheek and the silver in his mouth and the finger missing from his right hand—until Akashi kisses him again, dips his head down and the perfect taste fills Nijimura's mouth. Nijimura lifts up his left hand to cup Akashi's beautiful bubble butt, even more lush than his thighs, and he lets out a moan through his half-clenched jaw that dies when it hits Akashi's swirling tongue. Akashi thrusts his ass backward against Nijimura's hand and wriggles around; Nijimura can't take it anymore. He thrusts his own hips upward and flips Akashi over so that he's lying face down, ass up, and…damn.

Nijimura takes a few seconds to admire the view before Akashi huffs impatiently. Nijimura rolls his eyes but lowers his head anyway and places his tongue in between Akashi's ass cheeks. Akashi groans and spreads his legs even farther; Nijimura flicks his tongue against Akashi's hole and then licks a trail downward. Akashi moans, long and low and guttural, and Nijimura jerks his head—the sounds alone are too much for him; his cock is throbbing harder and his head is spinning. Again, he licks Akashi's hole, poking his tongue inside. Akashi's tighter than he was expecting, and if anything he's contracting tighter around Nijimura's tongue and the sounds he's making are indescribably hot and desperate. Nijimura reaches up one hand to curl around Akashi's cock; Akashi gasps and tightens even further, and as Nijimura drags a finger from the base of the shaft to the tip he can feel Akashi getting pretty damn close, the precum leaking out, the way his cock is pulsing and his body is shaking. Nijimura moves his tongue as best he can, cups Akashi's balls in his hand, and that about does it as Akashi shouts something incoherent and jerks forward, releasing onto the floor. Nijimura pulls out and Akashi rolls over; seeing those different eyes clouded with lust and the imprint of the floorboards on his cheek and his swollen lips are enough to do it for Nijimura; he gives himself a few strokes and finishes, flopping back onto the floor to join Akashi.

* * *

146\. Drowning (Kiyoshi Teppei/Mibuchi Reo)

Teppei dreams he is drowning sometimes, that he's in the middle of the stormy seas and his leg refuses to move and his arms are useless against the flow of the current and he's coughing and his vision is blurry from the saltwater. He wakes up gasping and choking and sweating and can't go back to sleep even when he fists his hands in the bedsheets to remind himself that he's lying on something solid.

When he's with Reo, he doesn't dream very often, and when he does it's of innocuous things, of grocery shopping and standing on the train and making tea. He breathes easier when Reo's pale arm is lying across his torso and Reo's head is on his shoulder. The even breathing beside him is soothing. He doesn't know how to let Reo know how much this means to him, so he settles for a kiss on the forehead. Even when asleep, it makes Reo smile and close his fingers around the hem of Teppei's shirt.

* * *

147\. Umbrella (Momoi Satsuki/Sakurai Ryou)

Sakurai's fingers are steady as he holds the black umbrella over their heads; Momoi leans closer to keep her bag out of the rain.

"I'm sorry that the weather is so bad," he says.

She looks up at him; he's biting his lip. "A silly little thing like rain can't ruin my date when it was with the right guy."

Sakurai's grip on the umbrella loosens and it falls onto his neck, still well over the top of Momoi's head.

"I…I…"

Sakurai can't think of anything to apologize for. He busies himself with raising the umbrella and doesn't notice Momoi standing on her tiptoes to place a soft kiss on his cheek. This time he's too stunned to even drop the umbrella and just gazes at her in wonderment. They start walking again and he winds an arm around her waist. She leans up into him. Who needs the sun when his smile is so bright?

* * *

148\. Unreasonably (Kasamatsu Yukio/Kuroko Tetsuya)

Kuroko is the perfect kouhai—not too loud or too moody or too narcissistic (although truth be told, Hayakawa, Nakamura, and Kise are good kids when it comes down to it). He's quiet and diligent and even if he's still not very skilled he plays his role well and does what's asked of him. On the other hand, Kuroko's way too damn cute for his own good, so it's probably better that he plays for another team (not to mention how overbearing Kise would be if that were the case). Still, it's hard being in different cities and being busy all the time; they rarely get to see each other.

But it's worth it when they do get together. Kuroko's suitably low-key and willing to let Kasamatsu take the lead most of the time. Of course, sometimes he gets ahead of himself and Kasamatsu always swears he's not going to let Kuroko be the exception but he always is and he's always forgiven before Kasamatsu can get properly mad. It's almost frustrating, but it also isn't—it's hard to be frustrated when Kuroko's kissing him in a way that makes him blush for a week just thinking about it.

* * *

149\. Fluster (Aomine Daiki/Sakurai Ryou) for anon

Five minutes into studying, Aomine puts his pencil down. "Ahh, Ryou, my hand hurts."

Sakurai looks at him skeptically. Aomine holds out his hand. "Look, I have a blister."

"Ah! I'm sorry! Did I make you work too hard?"

Sakurai can try and put on a stern act but it really disappears at the drop of a hat. Although Aomine really does have a blister on the inside of his hand and holding a pencil does really fucking hurt.

Sakurai's touch is surprisingly warm; his hands are rough and calloused but well-taken-care of; his nails are clipped and the skin isn't cracked or peeling. Aomine's not sure why he continues to stare at Sakurai's hands—or why Sakurai continues to hold Aomine's hand in his while he examines the blister. Aomine feels kind of funny inside; do these things get infected that easily?

Instinctively, Aomine grasps Sakurai's hand and Sakurai looks up at him and flushes.

"A-Aomine-san," Sakurai mumbles. "I'm sorry."

He leans upward until his forehead is a hair's breadth away from Aomine's. Aomine shudders and feels his face suddenly heat up—he's still holding on to Sakurai's hand. Sakurai's warm brown eyes are beautiful, and in the late afternoon light they look as if they're flecked with gold. Aomine feels paralyzed; he wants to pull away and hide his face in his hostory notes but he wants to get closer to those eyes at the same time. He's barely breathing anymore, and neither is Sakurai.

* * *

150\. Pineapple Shake (Miyaji Kiyoshi/Fukui Kensuke) for acichia

Miyaji doesn't have the right to be this cute. He's 15 fucking centimeters taller than Fukui—which makes him shorter than Gorilla, but still. That baby face shouldn't look as good as it does when he's scowling and he shouldn't be so shy about admitting his feelings. It's not like Fukui is shouting his feelings for Miyaji to the whole world, but he's not trying (and failing) to keep them a secret, either. He'd rather Miyaji know about them, to be perfectly honest. But still, he can't wait around indefinitely for whenever Miyaji gets a grip on his feelings. That would just take too damn long.

Miyaji slurps his pineapple shake; his hair is falling over his eyes and he's impossibly adorable. There's a smudge of pineapple on his left cheek; Fukui absently w ondrs if Miyaji will try to hit him if he licks it off. Well, there's only one way to find out, isn't there?

* * *

151\. Skate to See You (Hayama Koutarou/Izuki Shun) for mizukifuyu

The doorbell rings once, twice, then three times in rapid succession. It must be Hayama; he's early—Izuki wouldn't have expected that from him (then again, he wouldn't expect lateness, either). He opens the door and Hayama is there, finger poised over the doorbell, wearing a helmet and carrying a skateboard and a shopping bag.

"Skate to see you," says Izuki.

Hayama laughs. "That was a really good one, Shun-chan."

Izuki smiles back. "Come in."

Hayama follows, eagerly taking in the scene—Izuki's never found his house to be all that interesting, although he's lived in it all of his life so that might be why.

Izuki's mother is in the kitchen making tea; she turns to greet them as they enter. "You must be Hayama-kun. It's skate to see you," she says.

"I already used that one, Mom," says Izuki.

"Oh?" says Hayama. "You tell jokes like Shun-chan?"

Izuki's mother nods and smiles. "Shun's gotten rather good, hasn't he?"

"Yup!" says Hayama, throwing an arm around Izuki's shoulders and hitting him in the chest with the shopping bag.

"Hey, watch the bag…because bag things happen when you don't pay attention."

"Oh, that's right! I brought some cookies," says Hayama. "They're Reo-nee's homemade ones."

He deposits the bag on the table.

"Thank you so much," says Izuki's mother. "I'm sure they'll go fan-tea-stically with the tea I'm making."

"Ooh, that was a good one," says Izuki.

He takes out his notebook and ots it down.

"Wow!" says Hayama. "Teppei told me you wrote everything down but I thought he was exaggerating."

"Well, you never know when you'll find the write joke," says Izuki.

Hayama grins. Izuki's mother opens her mouth again and Izuki realizes that he'll probably have to leave now if he ever wants to get some alone time with Hayama, especially before his sisters wake up.

"Come on, Kotarou-san. Don't you want to get to the skate park before it's too crowded?"

"No, you should stay for tea and cookies," says Izuki's mother. "Don't hog him, Shun; he's so cute."

"Oh, it's okay, Reo-nee gave me a bag of cookies to eat on the train," says Hayama.

He looks expectantly at Izuki. "Can we?"

Izuki smiles. "Of course."

Hayama grabs his hand and pulls him toward the door. "Let's go, then. It was nice meeting you, Izuki-san!"

"Come back anytime," says Izuki's mother. "It would be Hayamazing to see you again."

Hayama's still laughing when Izuki locks the front door; Izuki is somehow irritated that he finds his mother that amusing, so he shuts Hayama up with a kiss.

* * *

152\. Faint (Aomine Daiki/Sakurai Ryou) for anon

The scrimmage isn't really challenging, even when they quadruple-team him. Still, he's already done so much shooting today that there's no need to bother with it any more—and at least with passing, they might get lucky and block it. Still, there's a sizeable hole in the defense right between him and Sakurai. Aomine underhands the ball through.

"Ryou!"

He wasn't expecting that, intent on setting up for the play in the exact position determined by their point guard (still, to be fair, it's not as if anyone was guarding him). He wheels around at the sound of Aomine's voice but his hands are in the exact wrong position and the ball smashes against his fingers and Aomine winces. Sakurai screams in anguish—did he really throw it that hard? Coach blows his whistle and everyone starts to crowd around Sakurai.

Sakurai ignores their questions and instead stares at Aomine, face flushed. "I…I'm sorry!"

"Pay more attention," Aomine says. "You're the shooter; you're supposed to be ready for anything."

He grabs Sakurai's hand; Sakurai sucks in his breath—the finger is already swelling but it doesn't seem to be broken.

"Aomine-san…"

Aomine glances back at Sakurai's face and feels his own heat up in return. Sakurai's shallow breaths and the tears he's forcing back stubbornly, the way he bites his lip—it's too much all at once.

"Hey, give him some room," Satsuki says, and it's that moment when Sakurai slumps over onto Aomine's chest.

(-)

Satsuki wraps Sakurai's hand while lecturing the team about crowding around an excitable person who needs medical treatment (and using a few choice words on Aomine for not apologizing back even though it's totally not his fault). Sakurai's blushing even harder, having come to a few moments later. He's still sitting on Aomine's lap, even after apologizing for falling on him—considering how little he weighs, it really doesn't matter.

"Dai-chan, you should get back to practice," says Satsuki.

"Ryou needs me," says Aomine, gesturing to his lap.

"I'm so sorry, Aomine-san, you can go back to practice," says Sakurai, attempting to crawl off. He winces, dizzy from the sudden movement.

Satsuki purses her lips. "I suppose you'd better stay, then."

"I'm sorry!" Sakurai squeaks.

Aomine sighs. "It's fine, idiot. Just pay attention next time, okay?"

He pulls Sakurai into a more comfortable position on his lap and leans against the wall.

* * *

153\. Best Time (Kiyoshi Teppei/Kuroko Tetsuya)

The best times are when they're in Maji together and Kiyoshi pulls Kuroko onto his lap and folds his hands loosely around Kuroko's waist and Kuroko drinks his milkshake. Kiyoshi doesn't worry about food or doing anything; he's just happy to be in Kuroko's proximity. Just being in close contact is enough for him; he knows when Kuroko wants to talk he'll talk. Kiyoshi understands and Kiyoshi knows and that's what makes these moments so completely and utterly wonderful.

* * *

154\. Winter (Himuro Tatsuya/Mibuchi Reo)

Akita winters are cold; Reo mails Tatsuya some cookies and plenty of tea and hot chocolate mix and instant coffee; even if the cookies won't be oven-fresh he can warm them up and it won't be the same but Reo hopes Tatsuya will think of him anyway. Tatsuya calls him and thanks him; Atsushi stole a few cookies but Tatsuya was able to keep most of them for himself, he says, and Reo smiles. Tatsuya swallows on the other end and says he's drinking some of the black tea now, and then he thanks Reo again—it's not a necessary thank you or the vague, polite one he gives everyone; his voice is ragged and he's sick and tired of all of this winter and is itching to graduate so he can go home again.

"Come with me, Reo," he says.

Reo's eyes are like faulty pipes, overloaded with tears that streak down his face and his shirt and in the privacy of his room he doesn't really care because he's been waiting, carefully hoping, for Tatsuya to say something like that for he doesn't know how long, managing to choke out an affirmative between sobs. The only way this could be better is if Tatsuya was here right now, holding Reo in his arms—but they'll be together soon enough, won't they?

* * *

155\. Spaces (Aomine Daiki/Wakamatsu Kousuke)

Each one of them always claims to be the one who closed the short distance between their mouths and whatever air was left between their fingers, who squeezed tighter and held closer and pressed harder on the other's. They pass insults back and forth like basketballs when they come up for air between kisses, yank clothes off of each other's bodies with more force than necessary. It's a glorious, never-ending tug of war as blue eyes meet brown and neither set closes even for a moment. Neither will concede and they're fine with the deadlock, the grappling and pushing and hands slipping against sweaty flesh.

* * *

156\. Rest (Murasakibara Atsushi/Himuro Tatsuya) for anon

Murasakibara is content to watch Himuro work, the small gestures in his hands as he creates his mirages, the way his tongue pokes out slightly between his lips. He can't make it look completely effortless, although his stance is easy and the motions are smooth. Why he has to practice so much, depleting his energy when his illusions are already powerful and refined, Murasakibara has no clue. Of course, some practice is good; if he doesn't practice he'll lose a step or two—but this is beyond that. It really seems pointless, but then again, thinking about it too much is pointless, too.

Himuro lowers his hands; the illusion fades; he wipes the sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his shirt.

"Muro-chin."

"Hmm? Atsushi?"

"Come here."

He cocks an eyebrow but walks over and laces their hands together. His palm is still clammy; he's working himself way too hard. Murasakibara pulls Himuro down onto his lap. It's too warm for this, really, but this is the only way to make Himuro stay in place.

"Atsushi, I have to practice."

"No."

"Let me go."

Murasakibara grips him tighter and kisses the soft back of his ear. Himuro sighs softly and squeezes Murasakibara's hand. He struggles against Murasakibara's arm, but after a few seconds he gives in and leans back. He really should let himself be taken care of more often.

* * *

157\. Lilt (Himuro Tatsuya/Alexandra Garcia)

There's a lilt in Alex's Japanese, slight and barely noticeable even to the native Japanese speakers who try to catch imperfections in her pronunciation and intonation. Tatsuya knows better, can hear the traces of the slight falters that were obvious ten years ago, the way she wants to say the words before mentally correcting herself, the way her words naturally flow in English and Spanish that don't quite suit Japanese. He's the only one who really knows this anymore; Taiga doesn't really remember (did he pay that much attention to it in the first place?) and no one else has spoken Japanese with her this long. It's like their little secret; he's not sure she knows he knows—she seems puzzled when he keeps a conversation going long after it's dead and beaten over again but accepts it anyway, lets the words fall from her lips in that particular way of hers and Tatsuya falls in love all over again.

* * *

158\. Guilt (Akashi Seijuurou/Furihata Kouki)

The guilt surges through his blood and forces its way into his abdomen, squeezes his stomach until he feels like vomiting and does, white hands curled and stabilizing his body on the sides of the narrow stall while he heaves into a toilet and prays he's alone in the bathroom because explaining himself would make him feel even worse—how can he enjoy being with someone who has hurt so many people as much as he does? How can he be with someone who has deliberately done so much wrong by Kuroko, who is perhaps the closest thing he has to a best friend? How can he look his reflection in the eyes when he sees Akashi's shadow in the background, when he feels the memory of those hands on his wrist? How can he take the French fry from Kagami's plate, stolen by Kawahara and offered to him, with the mouth that's still tasting Akashi's tongue? How can he answer that message when Hyuuga's eyes are on him? His chest heaves again even though there's nothing left in his stomach.

The guilt will suppress himself when he sees Akashi again; he'll forget those bad things when he feels that gaze and that warm arm is around his shoulders and Akashi is whispering sweet things into his ear and paying close attention to him and holding him and the realization that this will happen makes him feel even more guilty right now, as if he's overcompensating. Whatever way this ends, he'll probably be torn apart by then.

* * *

159\. Heal (Susa Yoshinori/Kagami Taiga)

Susa has long since healed from the shattering of his teenage hoop dreams by the time Kagami worms his way into his life again, almost accidentally as if he doesn't know what he's doing—but he comes to expect the strong hands knocking on the counter of the bar he works at part-time, the random basketball talk squeezed in between customers, the tip he always refuses, the way their hands meet midway through the space between them on the top of an empty martini glass, the unreadable things in those searing red eyes—there's nothing really substantial to their relationship right now. But the possibility lingers like the condensation on the glasses and Susa whistles to himself as he cleans.

* * *

160\. Lace (Himuro Tatsuya/Alexandra Garcia)

She still has that magazine somewhere, buried in the back of her file cabinet, pages yellowed. Tucked into it is that picture of the three of them, so much younger, Taiga looking embarrassed and Alex grinning as Tatsuya whispers in her ear. That was the first time he told her she was beautiful; she remembers it well—and she remembers that dress well, the lace trimmings and the way the skirt fluffed out and the way it felt absolutely weightless as she pranced around in it in the sun. She doesn't remember the exact model number, though, and even with that finding one that's still around now is an absolute crapshoot—but it's worth a try. At the very least, she'll have the picture so she can show the people at the shop what she wants. She copies it down and puts the magazine on her desk just in case.

(-)

She knows it's right when she puts it on—they'll need to alter it a bit; it's too big in the waist and too small in the chest but not by very much. The length is perfect, which is an amazing stroke of luck—with her height, she can't often say that. She spins around and laughs at the way the open zipper flaps; they've got a ways to go but the hardest part, the gamble, is over.

(-)

The minute he sees her in it, it all clicks. He remembers, too, instantly—that day, his own words, everything. He traces a finger down her jawline and whispers the same thing into her ear; his voice is richer and edged in a mixture laughter and awe that weren't there the first time. And he is happy this time, not pressuring himself to do anything; his shoulders are straight and his lips meet hers still in a natural smile.

* * *

161\. Lift (Hayama Koutarou/Mibuchi Reo)

Kotarou's smile is infectious; no matter how angry or sad Reo is feeling it never fails to lift up his spirits when he sees it. It's refreshing and genuine (it's amazing how real it is considering how rarely it leaves his face) and multiple kinds of wonderful. Kotarou knows it, of course, and if anything that knowledge heightens the effect it has on Reo. It's unfair—but then again everything about Kotarou is unfair. That's okay; it's not like Reo's ever strictly played by the rules.

* * *

162\. Breaking the Rules (Liu Wei/Fukui Kensuke)

It's technically a rule violation to have anyone else in your room past 10 PM, but it's one of the ones everyone ignores. Liu, who had (at Fukui's request) memorized the entire student handbook, seems determined to not let him in the first few times, but eventually Fukui manages to wear him down and he becomes okay with it.

Most of the time they just talk, sitting on Liu's bad (it's too firm; he doesn't have a mattress pad) and discussing random things. There's a certain way Liu lets down his guard like this, his lips curling into a smile as he ducks his head, long fingers relaxed and half-curled and radiating heat next to Fukui's leg. Fukui can't help but watch, even when Liu stares out the window—his neck shouldn't be that long (he's about to make a crack about it, but his throat's not working).

* * *

163\. Something New (Wakamatsu Kousuke/Sakurai Ryou) for anon

The hesitation and insecurity have all but vanished from Sakurai's demeanor; he is focused and confident as he slides steady hands up and down Wakamatsu's legs. Wakamatsu twitches his hips and flushes all over again as Sakurai's fingers skim the inside of his thighs. They've gone this far before but it's always been rough, quick hand jobs in the showers after practice or awkward head when one of them has gotten overly excited, and they've both fumbled through it like they've got no fucking clue (and Wakamatsu can definitely say that's true for himself and would have said the same for Sakurai prior to five minutes ago when he started this…thing).

Wakamatsu shudders and Sakurai looks up. His cheeks are flushed, but in a robust kind of way like he's just been pushed to the edge in a game and not like he's about to stare at the ground and shout an apology and Wakamatsu briefly wonders what Sakurai would look like in his jersey, how his shoulders would be too small and one would be exposed, the neckline falling over his arm—but he's got Sakurai naked in and between his spread legs now and he's licking up and down Wakamatsu's abs and this is just way too fucking much. He hasn't been doing anything with his hands at all, just fisting them tighter in the sheets, so he slowly sits forward and grabs Sakurai's hips. The heels of his hands are right against Sakurai's bones; the only thing between them is Sakurai's flesh—he's strong but still carries a bit of baby fat right there; he's caught off guard by the pressure and his teeth knock against Wakamatsu's skin. He raises his head again, straightening his back and covering Wakamatsu's fingers in his hands (more of Wakamatsu's hands wouldn't fit in his grip and Wakamatsu has to smile).

They stare at each other for a moment; then Sakurai brings his lips up to meet Wakamatsu's. The kiss is rougher than usual, demanding, even. Sakurai leans up, presses his body to Wakamatsu's, moves onto his lap and grinds his hips up against Wakamatsu's body. He's hard (well, that was obvious before, but it's even more obvious) and he really wants it. He breaks the kiss; from the short range Wakamatsu can see how swollen his lips are and feel Sakurai's shallow breaths on his face. He moves his hands around to grope Sakurai's ass, hoping desperately this is the right thing to do—as his fingers extend inward Sakurai sighs in satisfaction, spreading his legs farther apart and dragging his nails lightly down Wakamatsu's neck.

Wakamatsu smiles; he feels the tension flood out from his shoulders as he picks up the pace and Sakurai squeals. He must be doing something right, even if he has no clue what it is.

His hands move toward Sakurai's hole; Sakurai's breathing becomes more and more labored and he's squirming and wriggling in Wakamatsu's grasp. Wakamatsu leans down again.

"Is this okay?"

Sakurai nods; their eyes lock.

"Can I…put my finger in?"

He almost cringes; it sounds awkward and not sexy at all, but Sakurai doesn't take issue with it. His mouth relaxes into a smile. "Please."

"Um, should I—I mean—lube?"

Sakurai nods; if the light wasn't so dim Wakamatsu would say he's blushing even harder. He gestures toward the bottle on the night stand; Wakamatsu picks it up.

Sakurai's surprisingly hot inside; he's pretty tight but the heat is more surprising—Wakamatsu sort of wiggles and pushes around, trying to make something happen—Sakurai's fingers unclench around Wakamatsu's shoulder blades, but he's not moaning or sighing anymore. Wakamatsu puts in another finger; Sakurai gasps. Wakamatsu quickly takes both out.

"Sorry."

"No, no, that felt good."

Wakamatsu slides both back in; Sakurai tenses but smiles. Wakamatsu leans down to kiss him again; Sakurai's mouth is still hot and his tongue is still eager. He relaxes into Wakamatsu's mouth and around Wakamatsu's fingers; Wakamatsu adds a third and Sakurai moans this time and jerks his hips. Sakurai's still hard, and, Wakamatsu realizes, so is he. And he wants to put it in, can imagine Sakurai tight around his cock the way he is around his fingers, and chokes back a moan of his own.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes."

Their lips meet again.

* * *

164\. Manicures (Takao Kazunari/Kuroko Tetsuya) for doyoulikecoffee

No one sees Kuroko as a general rule, so of course no one notices his hands. Even Izuki is more focused on other things (mainly jokes) and so it's only until they arrive at Shutoku for the practice match and Takao runs up to him that anyone notices anything. Hyuuga's about to make a remark about those damn underclassmen flaunting their romances everywhere before Takao grabs Kuroko's hand and starts inspecting his nails.

"Are they…painted blue?" asks Furihata.

"Yes, Captain Obvious," says Kawahara.

They're nearly the same shade as Kuroko's hair and eyes, and Hyuuga finds himself thinking just for a second that it actually does look good on him.

"Aww, it got a little bit chipped," says Takao. "That's okay, we can fix it later."

At this point all of the members of both teams are staring at him.

"What? Doesn't Tecchan's manicure look nice?"

"You did steal my nail file," says Midorima. "I can't believe this, Takao."

"I put it back," says Takao. "You can still use it."

"No, I can't," says Midorima, glaring at Kuroko.

Hyuuga looks at Ootsubo. Ootsubo shrugs—he seems to be far more used to this kind of weird shit.

"Kazunari-kun, I don't think this is really the appropriate time."

"You're probably right," says Takao.

* * *

165\. Roses (Susa Yoshinori/Sakurai Ryou)

Sakurai's cheeks blossom into roses when he's embarrassed or apologetic or overwhelmed; too often they turn pink or magenta or a deep red and then he hides his face behind a piece of paper or with a well-placed bow. Susa puts his hand under Sakurai's chin and tilts his face upward; Sakurai squeaks out another apology—but as usual, there's really nothing to apologize for. (Can people apologize for just being themselves?) He's so cute; Susa can't handle it at all, and he feels his own cheeks heat up in response. At least that makes Sakurai give him a shy smile.

* * *

166\. Aftermath (Miyaji Kiyoshi/Hayama Koutarou) for anon

Nothing, even sex, satisfies Hayama's desire for close contact. It's like Miyaji's made out of iron and he's a fucking magnet—no matter how much Miyaji pushes him off, he moves right back, curling up on Miyaji's chest or attaching himself like a burr to Miyaji's side. It's gross; they're all dirty and sweaty and hot but Hayama seems to either not notice or not care (and because it's him, it could go either way).

He yawns, showing his ridiculous teeth (he has to be part-cat or something, although that would make this bestiality and Miyaji's definitely not okay with that) and then closing his eyes. "Night, Miyaji-san."

"It's one in the afternoon," says Miyaji, even though he's barely stifling a yawn of his own.

Hayama hums and nuzzles Miyaji's neck.

"I'll seriously run you over if you fall asleep."

"Mm-hmm."

"Are you even listening to me?"

Hayama doesn't respond. Miyaji sighs. He adjusts his arm, moving it to a more comfortable position around Hayama's waist, and turns inward; even though it's warm they're both still naked and the window's open. And his eyes are heavy, and sun or no sun sleep does seem like a good plan right now.

* * *

167\. Pebbles (Kagami Taiga/Himuro Tatsuya)

Tatsuya's skipping stones across the surface of the lake in a punctuated rhythm, bare feet somehow gripping the rocks of the man-made bank. He's always been able to do it, to get three or four or even five hops out of the smooth stones on lakes and oceans and ponds—Taiga never could. He still can't; he throws the pebble and it sinks to the bottom every time. He slides his feet out of the flip-flops and walks toward Tatsuya; Tatsuya turns and smiles and hands Taiga a flat stone.

He chucks it far out; it doesn't land until it's near the middle of the lake but it doesn't skip across either. Tatsuya's stone is still gracefully hopping along until it too sinks—much later, though.

"It's all in the wrist," Tatsuya says.

"I know," says Taiga.

He feels like he's eleven again and his awkward body won't do what it should be doing—and then Tatsuya presses another rock into his palm and guides Taiga's hand, warm pressure jerking his arm in an unfamiliar movement—he doesn't realize he has to let go until it's almost too late, but the rock skips twice. Taiga feels a victorious rush and grabs Tatsuya's other hand and quickly presses their lips together. Tatsuya laughs into the kiss and squeezes his hands.


	4. April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> contains material published April 2014

168\. Home (Seto Kentarou/Momoi Satsuki)

He's been asleep for two hours by the time she finishes her work and heads to bed; he's lying on his side with his limbs splayed out like an awkwardly-positioned victim in a crime scene on one of those detective TV shows he likes to watch. He doesn't stir as she undresses and ties her hair back, turns off the already dimmed lights and then crawls into bed next to him. She slides backward against his chest and picks up his arm, draping it over her side. The deadweight is comfortable, familiar (it fits nicely into the dip of her waist); her lips curve up. She places her hand inside his large palm and bumps her knuckles upward; reflexively his hand closes around hers.

* * *

169\. Moonlight (Papa Mbaye Siki, Tanimura Yuusuke)

Tanimura's been retired for about a week when Papa apologizes. They meet at the vending machine in the dorm hall; the lights are off and Papa's tall figure cleaves the moonlight's path in half. He sounds sincere and contrite, the words falling from his mouth carefully—his Japanese is so much better than it was two years ago; his pronunciation is accented but not heavily and his understanding is much more nuanced. He's not translating things in his head anymore, and he's not saying it out of grudging politeness, not thinking about how stupid all of these formalities are, and Tanimura is inadvertently pulled back to the day they first met, when Tanimura was still the youngest vice-captain and a bit skeptical of their new exchange student from his position staring up at him from what seemed like half a meter below and being stared back at—and now, they've both grown so much and it's a mixture of pride and too-early nostalgia even as the distance between their eyes has grown. Somehow, now, they're closer in mind; they're closer as people.

He has to stand on his tiptoes to clap Papa on the shoulder, but he does it anyway.

"You'll lead Shinkyo to victory next year, so-called miracles and kings be damned."

And he smiles back, brilliantly; Tanimura doesn't even have to tell him (not that he would) that he's the one who pushed their coach to make him captain next year because it's self-evident. And in the glow of the night and the muted face of the vending machine, he feels confident passing the torch.

* * *

170\. A Beautiful Day (Papa Mbaye Siki, Tanimura Yuusuke)

The day Yuusuke graduates is beautiful; he listens to the class president speak as the sun shines behind the main building but the words pass into his head and die there because really, what was high school? He's learned a lot; he's changed a lot; but he hopes these weren't the best or most meaningful three years of his life. It's beautiful and the ceremony isn't overly boring (nor is it overly sentimental) but it just…is. He's said his goodbyes; he's gotten into college; he's retired from the basketball club.

Still, something unfamiliar tugs at his stomach, jerks behind his eyse and his breathing speeds up as a group of his kouhai from the club wave to him.

It's even worse when Papa (of all people) hugs him; it's crushing and unexpected and even though Yuusuke thought they had already had closure it opens up everything all over again—his hands curl around the back of Papa's ill-fitting uniform jacket and he heaves a heavy breath, grateful (not for the first time) for how damn big Papa is (no one has a chance of seeing the pained expression, his rapidly-blinking eyes, when they're buried in the white shirt).

And then he steps away, features moving back into place. They nod at each other; it's a tad awkward—and then they part, turning and walking in separate directions; they don't look back.

* * *

171\. Pants (Fukuda Hiroshi/Furihata Kouki)

Fukuda doesn't do the laundry until he's out of pants and he absolutely has to, and he walks around the house all day in just his boxers and a t-shirt. For some reason (even though he regularly sees Fukuda in less than that) it flusters Furihata to an absurd degree and he avoids the path between the kitchen and the bedroom until Fukuda gets bored and plops next to him on the couch. He's always amused by Furihata's blush, strikes a silly pose and pokes his cheek, and he's too much of a hilarious chatterbox for Furihata to remain embarrassed for too long. Furihata comes to enjoy these laundry days, and even when he notices the pile of clothes overflowing from the hamper he never says anything.

* * *

172\. Weighed Options (Imayoshi Shouichi/Aomine Daiki)

Shouichi's humming under his breath, some song or other probably—but his sense of pitch is about on par with his drawing skills and even if it's a song Daiki knows there's no way to tell. It really sounds like the purr of an engine on a fast car, but if Shouichi was a car he'd be some kind of vintage model probably. With a tape deck and a broken radio.

Shouichi pauses, turns his head and leans close to Daiki.

"Thinking, Daiki? Really?"

"Shut up," says Daiki.

He weighs the pros and cons kissing Shouichi, and although he probably shouldn't give the bastard the satsifaction he kind of wants to. When Shouichi's like this, glasses slipping and mouth neutral, he's the most irresistible (Daiki can't fucking stand the sinister smooth smile he puts on all the time)—but then Shouichi's lips curl up and Daiki leans back.

"How disappointing" says Shouichi.

"Seriously, shut the fuck up," says Daiki.

(This time he does kiss Shouichi. Just to be sure.)

* * *

173\. Just Something (Ishida Hideki/Haizaki Shougo)

Haizaki hangs out in his underwear playing video games sometimes, eats chips until the controller is so greasy it's about to fall out of his hand and Ishida shouldn't care because it's Haizaki's game system and those are Haizaki's chips and even though it's technically Ishida's couch it always stays clean. It's okay to cut the kid some slack sometimes, especially on his days off (and he does, with a lot of shoving and yelling from Ishida, get up in time for work when he has it). There's something about it that's somehow off-putting and Ishida doesn't know why. He doesn't realize he's staring until Haizaki throws the second controller his way and he reflexively grabs it from the air.

"You gotta be player two," says Haizaki through a mouthful of chips, and Ishida sits down warily beside him.

There was a time Haizaki would have thrown the controller at his head in an attempt to hit him; there was a time (not so long ago) when he would have glared back and asked Ishida what the fuck he was looking at. He's not even elbowing Ishida as he mashes the controls—Ishida has no idea what he's doing and he loses the fight within two rounds, but even though it's frustrating he feels overwhelmingly happy.

"These aren't my thing," he says, putting the controller down beside him.

"You just don't want your ass kicked again," says Haizaki. "Didn't think you gave up that easily, though."

Ishida decides to risk it anyway, quickly darting in and pressing a kiss to Haizaki's cheek.

"What the hell was that for?"

"You're cute, Shougo."

"I'll throw this controller at you, motherfucker."

(He doesn't.)

* * *

174\. Airplane (Susa Yoshinori/Imayoshi Shouichi)

Imayoshi's like an airplane, spread out on the bed with his arms draped one over Susa and one over the side. He hums softly in his sleep like the constant whir of the engine in the cabin, and he's dangerous, too—he lulls Susa into a false sense of security sometimes even now. Even when he appears to be sleeping right now, he could easily lift his head up and scare the shit out of Susa—he's done it many times before. He's turbulent but graceful; he's impossible. But Imayoshi's like flying in general, too—where is he going with this? Susa sighs and flops back down. He shouldn't try and think about things like this late at night; he loses track of where he's going and what he started thinking about and ends up staying up all night wondering about unimportant nuances. He snuggles closer to Imayoshi, lets his hand fall onto the small of Imayoshi's back and closes his eyes. He might be imagining it, but he hears Imayoshi laugh quietly—damn it.

* * *

175\. Jellyfish (Imayoshi Shouichi/Harasawa Katsunori)

Imayoshi's like a jellyfish, slippery and lazy, lying in wait for Harasawa to do something particularly stupid and add to his misfortune, but at the same time so beautifully captivating. Harasawa had never seen a middle-school student play point guard so self-assuredly and with the grace of someone who had already grown into his body (and he'd still had ten or so centimeters left to grow) and that was it, that one time when he'd meant to recruit the other team's power forward and ended up with the guard he would chase cautiously for five years before he landed solidly in his own trap, in Imayoshi's clutches. But that's alright; at this point in his life he really doesn't care that much and he'd rather focus on his gains than his losses. Imayoshi's always got the upper hand, but it's probably for the best, anyway.

* * *

176\. Apple (Imayoshi Shouichi/Sakurai Ryou)

The apple fits in Sakurai's small hand perfectly, smooth skin against his calloused palm as he peels it slowly, rotating it against the blade of the knife. It's almost picturesque how the sun from the kitchen window hits him and the angle his wrists make against the fruit.

"Tempting," says Imayoshi.

To his credit, Sakurai only jumps a few centimeters in the air and drops neither knife nor fruit. His hands shake as he holds out the half-peeled apple to Imayoshi, squeaking out apologies and offers and bargains (each one more tangentially related than the last) and Imayoshi leans forward and nips a bite out of the peeled portion. It's tender, a little bit mealy perhaps—but that's not the point, He flicks his tongue against Sakurai's thumb and that is when he does drop the apple, and then the knife, fruit smashing as it lands, a now-inedible heap on the linoleum. Th eknife skids off under the counter and Imayoshi sighs.

"Careful, Ryou."

"I'm so sorry, Shouichi-san, I—"

He inhales sharply as Imayoshi's teeth scrape across his palm, hand spasming and body shaking. It's so easy to make him come undone that it's almost not worth it—until Sakurai shoves his entire hand into Imayoshi's mouth and Imayoshi looks up to see his eyes blazing with lust. Things might get interesting.

* * *

177\. Thirteen More (Liu Wei/Himuro Tatsuya)

They've spent thirteen years together, in a sense—they've loved each other thirteen years, across oceans and miles of flyover country and rivers and seas and borders and continents and static on the phone and e-mails on faulty internet connections and letters and packages that cost more than they can strictly afford. The amount they've spent in the same space, touching or close enough to, is negligible—but they're here now, together, aren't they? They're here, in this room, in this country, together, for the forseeable future—for the next thirteen years, and for thirteen after that, too, hopefully. It's not something they'll talk about; they don't say things that are that kind of sappy, but the sentiment is in the softness of Wei's hand on top of Tatsuya's and the certainty of the meeting of their lips.

* * *

178\. Exhaustion (Kagami Taiga/Kise Ryouta)

Kise comes back exhausted some days, stiff from holding poses for hours and keeping the same vacant expression on his face and doing the same thing over and over again until he feels like screaming—Kagami doesn't know how he does it, honestly. But even when he's exhausted Kise is always ready for a meal, draping himself over Kagami's back as Kagami reheats dinner for him. They talk a little while Kise eats (and Kagami does too, leftovers or chips or whatever Kise doesn't eat) but just being with each other like this is enough, just knowing that however far away either of them goes they'll always have the other to come back to keeps them going forward.

* * *

179\. Picnic (Okamura Kenichi/Himuro Tatsuya)

The ends of the blanket are fraying, but that's why they're taking this one and laying it on the grass. It doesn't matter if it gets dirty when they lie on it and look up at the sky and talk about clouds and other such things. They're too insecure to bring up heavier things right now, when it's so beautiful, so perhaps that's why the day seems so ethereal.

Himuro slips his hand into Okamura's and rolls over, moving closer. He feels Okamura's heartbeat accelerate and when he looks up at his face, Okamura's smiling brighter and more precious than gold.

* * *

180\. Ring (Imayoshi Shouichi/Harasawa Katsunori)

Imayoshi is like the ringing in his ears; by the time he notices it it's too late and it takes over his consciousness even though it's been in the background and waiting for the right moment—Imayoshi's hand is a millimeter above his and then it covers Harasawa's, making the freckles on the back of his hand that Harasawa hates so much vanish from view with the tight, slender paleness. Their fingers are woven together more tightly than the silk of Harasawa's tie and Imayoshi's lips are dry against his earlobe. But unlike the ringing, he can enjoy Imayoshi, so perhaps it's not really an apt comparison.

* * *

181\. Chocolate (Mibuchi Reo/Sakurai Ryou)

Mibuchi makes chocolates with him; he insists on it—Sakurai warily eyes him the whole time they're in the kitchen together. Is he sabotaging Sakurai's efforts? (Are his chocolates genuinely better?) It seems to be a one-sided competition; either Mibuchi is oblivious or he's a very good actor. Either way, it's annoying.

But Sakurai might have to forgive him; he places one of Sakurai's on his tongue and then bites down; a genuine smile spreads across his face.

"After all, Ryou-chan's are better."

"Of course they are."

(Then Mibuchi lets him have a taste—he's already eaten one of Mibuchi's, and while it's good it simply can't compare to his.)

* * *

182\. Music (Aida Kagetora/Harasawa Katsunori)

The music swells from the radio, music from their youth. Katsunori lights another cigarette and Tora leans back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The skin on his large hand is tighter, drier than it used to be but his hand is still warm and heavy on Katsunori's shoulder. Katsunori sighs and leans back, neck resting on the paler underside of Tora's arm.

They don't talk or even tap their feet; there's nothing to say and a value in the stillness, in the crinkle of the fabric of Katsunori's shirt and the glowing end of the cigarette as it slowly shrinks, in their unspoken feelings.

* * *

183\. Whiplash (Hayama Kotarou/Mibuchi Reo)

Sometimes Kotarou speaks so fast Reo gets whiplash trying to follow his train of thought and before either of them know it they're both completely lost—Reo asks Kotarou to clarify and he just shrugs (and says he doesn't know either and how much Reo wants to throttle him can't be understated). It's better not to think, anyway, to just feel and let their bodies do the talking and reacting—Kotarou's motions are always much clearer than his words.

* * *

184\. Kitsune (Aomine Daiki/Kuroko Tetsuya) for anon

Aomine's tail is extra-bushy; that means he's even more in the mood than usual—as if Kuroko couldn't tell from the way he's prowling around and the lust in his eyes. When you watch someone as intently as he watches Aomine, even the smallest changes are startlingly clear.

And Aomine's not letting him get out of this; he's too fast and his endurance is a million times what Kuroko's is, so he's got no chance of defying him. Still, he won;t give in so easily, and there's something to be said for the thrill of the chase.

But the minute Aomine starts nipping at his ears and whispering half-snarled dirty things in his ears, even the proper side of Kuroko is undeterred. He yields to the length of Aomine's body, the strength of his legs, his deep growls, the heat in his blue eyes.

* * *

185\. Raincoat (Susa Yoshinori/Kobori Kouji)

The first thing of Kouji's to take up permanent residence in Yoshinori's apartment is his raincoat. He arrives in the rain and in the morning it's too warm for a jacket, so Yoshinori just tells him to leave it and that he can pick it up later. But he never does; he always forgets—and then other bits of him start migrating over, hats and notebooks and a spare phone charger and razors and ties and he's already living there long before he officially is; he just fits in so naturally that Yoshinori never really gives much thought.

* * *

186\. Real (Hayama Kotarou/Mibuchi Reo)

Kotarou's taken up permanent residence in Reo's dorm room, for better or for worse. It's become a regular occurrence for Reo to come back from the convenience store to find him curled up asleep on the bed, music still blasting from his headphones and his half-finished math homework scattered on the floor. Somehow, Reo doesn't ever have the heart to wake him up—he sets the alarm clock early for tomorrow and crawls in beside him, pulling the covers over both of them and turning off Kotarou's MP3 player. He is so rarely still that it's almost as if Reo's already dreaming, but the warmth of Kotarou's skin and the rhythm of his breathing are too beautiful to be a product of his imagination.

* * *

187\. Subtle (Haizaki Shougo/Kise Ryouta)

Shougo isn't subtle; he's crass and blunt and harsh and makes a mess wherever he goes; he fucks up everything with his own dysfunctions and doesn't seem to care either way about most of it. Ryouta knows how to be subtle, but he abandons it with Shougo, allows the meaner, hungrier side of him to come out—they shove each other and knock glasses off coffee tables or knock elbows through the empty air and don't remember which after the next few seconds. Ryouta copies Shougo's malice and Shougo steals it back, twists it further—it's a glorious tug of war, a tussle that exhausts them both and leaves them loosely entwined and both of them smirking—somehow they've both won this round.

* * *

188\. Arson (Yamazaki Hiroshi, Hara Kazuya, Furuhashi Koujirou)

Furuhashi holds out a thin hand, fingers hanging kind of like worms in their limpness, and Yamazaki rummages through his bag. He pulls out a dented but sealed pack of cherry cigarettes and slaps them into Furuhashi's palm. His fingers curl around the box and his mouth turns up at the corners. The effect is sort of creepy; Yamazaki's learned to stop shuddering at it but it's still kind of unnerving.

"You could be a little less grateful," he mutters.

Furuhashi shrugs and drops the box in his coat pocket. "I only had to set the trash can on fire because your lazy ass couldn't bother studying for the chemistry midterm."

Hara snaps his gum against his teeth. "I'm hungry."

Smoke is still floating out the sixth-floor boys' bathroom window, but it's all dissipating into the foggy air. The teachers are supposed to be minding the students but they're all huddled in groups gossiping.

"Let's blow this joint," says Yamazaki.

"You're buying," says Furuhashi.

"I already bought you the goddamn cigarettes."

"I bought last time."

"Make Hara do it."

"Don't want to."

"I don't want to, either!"

(Fifteen minutes later, Yamazaki somethow ends up pulling out his credit card and paying for cheese fries for all three of them.)

* * *

189\. Breathless (Mitobe Rinnosuke, Mochizuki Kazuhiro)

It would have been nice to face Mochizuki when he'd still had the old shot; as it is Haizaki's not likely to bring out his own version. Still, he's completely revamped his game by necessity and Mitobe's still glad to face him—glad of the challenge, of the respect Mochizuki shows him as an opponent, of feeling like he's halfway there, of the speed in his legs and torso as he tries to duck around Mitobe's body. Mitobe's breathless, but it's a good kind of breathless. He's never been so determined to win before.

* * *

190\. Placebo (Fukuda Hiroshi/Furihata Kouki)

Fukuda's hand in his makes Furihata braver. It's hard to describe; even when Fukuda's not there Furihata knows he's liked, knows that Fukuda cares about him—it's more than that. It might be like some sort of placebo effect, as if by feeling the pressure and security of Fukuda's touch and grip he feels like Fukuda's power is his, too, but that doesn't even make any sense. And it's not like they can hold hands when they're playing basketball or anything. Still, in those moments, Furihata feels like he can take on the world as long as he has Fukuda by his side.

* * *

191\. Boundaries (Hara Kazuya/Seto Kentarou)

Kentarou wants to say that Kazuya's crossed some boundary here—he moved Kentarou's hair gel, stuck it somewhere unusual, and holding his hair back with his hand gets, well, tiring before he can figure out what the fuck Kazuya did with it. It's not fair; he can't think straight like this, can't even remember why he was thinking about boundaries in the first place what with his hair all in his eyes like this. (How does Kazuya think?) He reaches out for Kazuya's arm and pulls him roughly over, burying his face in what he supposes is Kazuya's chest.

"I fucking hate you."

"You fucking me, that's what I like to hear," says Kazuya.

Kentarou's about to say something about not having enough energy or wherewithal to do anything like that right now with his hair as it is—but it's so nice and warm like this, he decides he'd rather take a nap instead (it's not like Kazuya would actually listen to what he has to say).

* * *

192\. Rum (Kiyoshi Teppei/Mibuchi Reo)

Teppei's like rum, a melting, numbing, enjoyable heat in Reo's mouth, digging into Reo's head with his fingernails until it's a bit uncomfortable but it's nothing Reo can't handle. Teppei's not exactly sweet, but he's good company and his embrace is warm and comforting and Reo feels a little bit fuzzy and loose with him. He's too much, sometimes, too; he gets overcome in the moment but Reo finds it awfully hard to hold a grudge against him. To be honest, it's impossible, but that's okay.

* * *

193\. And Don't (Miyaji Kiyoshi/Takao Kazunari)

Takao's face is pressed into the front of Miyaji's sweatshirt, his cheek against the zipper, and Miyaji wants to tell him to get up or his face will be dented with an awkward impression but it's probably too late at this point. Takao's hands are deep in the sweatshirt pockets, knuckles pressed against Miyaji's abdomen through the fabric. The feeling of his fists isn't completely unpleasant, just…different (he palms everything like it's a basketball, like he's practicing whenever he can, like everything's just about to roll of his fingers and away). Miyaji curls his own knuckles around the strands of Takao's hair resting between them, pressing lightly against the back of Takao's head, and Takao sighs in response. He's trying to say something but it's muffled in Miyaji's chest.

"You better not be drooling," Miyaji grumbles.

Takao lifts his head; the impression of the zipper runs down his forehead and cheek like a strange kind of roping scar. His mouth looks dry and his bangs are pressed to his forehead.

"What do you think I am, five?"

Miyaji snorts. "I know you."

Takao smiles, expression flickering like a cat's as he yanks his hands down and brings Miyaji's face closer.

"And don't stretch out my sweatshirt."

Takao plants a kiss on Miyaji's nose. "Does that mean you want to take it off?"

When he does, he throws it at Takao's head. Takao dodges, snickering like Miyaji's just told the funniest stupid joke he's heard in a long time.

* * *

194\. Size Kink (Mibuchi Reo/Murasakibara Atsushi) for anon

Atsushi's so big Reo can't fit him all the way in his mouth, even though he's long since lost his gag reflex. The tip of Atsushi's cock is in the back of his throat and still Reo's fingers stroke the part of the length exposed to the air. Atsushi is shaking and moaning loud and lewd and it's clear he doesn't care about how he comes as long as it's as soon as possible, so really Reo can't keep this up for too long. He licks down the length as he moves his mouth away, and Atsushi whines.

"Don't stop."

"Atsushi…"

He opens his heavy eyes and meets Reo's—and Reo really, really can't blame him for just wanting to get off right now because Atsushi is absolutely beautiful with sweat clinging to the contours of his muscles and plastering his hair to his face and those goddamn bedroom eyes are always too much, but especially now—

"I want you inside me," says Reo.

It's cliché as fuck, but Atsushi smiles, leans in for a kiss and thumbs the head of Reo's cock and Reo shudders.

Atsushi's fingers inside him are amazing on their own, long and thick and dexterous, poking and scissoring and stretching and Reo could probably get off on this alone, rolling his hips into Atsushi's touch and movement, God…

Atsushi takes out his fingers and slides in his dick. It hurts a little bit, but more than that it fills Reo up completely. He's gasping and sighing with the sensation, and so is Atsushi; Reo wills himself to open his eyes just so he can see the expressions on Atsushi's face. He's so sexy and he doesn't even try, even in his half-awkwardness, but his instincts are good. He slams hard into Reo and Reo's head hangs back. He's drooling and making incoherent sounds, clenching his hands against the sheets and his legs around Atsushi's waist, longing for closeness and contact but at the same time he wants Atsushi's full force, and again he gets it with another thrust of Atsushi's hips. He's practically howling with the sensations, and he's not sure who comes first when they do—but still he hasn't had his fill.

He wants to wash up but Atsushi's already half-asleep and clutching him tightly, so it's not really an option.

"Let's do that tomorrow," Reo says.

Atsushi hums in what is hopefully assent.

* * *

195\. Tangled Up (Kagami Taiga/Himuro Tatsuya) for doyoulikecoffee

Tatsuya wakes up drenched in sweat and it feels like there's a weight on his chest—he opens his eyes and there is a weight in the form of Taiga, visiting from Tokyo for the weekend. Taiga is desperately clinging to him in his sleep, shivering even under several layers of clothing. It's amazing how different they are—Taiga can only sleep when he's very, very warm and Tatsuya barely notices the temperature; hot or cold he sleeps in his boxers with the window open. Even in Akita it hasn't been much of a problem, but apparently for Taiga it is.

Tatsuya sighs and tries to get up; he's kind of thirsty and even if he's too tired he'll want to disentangle himself from Taiga's body. He gets his arm out of Taiga's grasp and then tries to roll toward the other side of the bed, but his neck is yanked back. Shit.

Somehow, his necklace and Taiga's have gotten tangled up. In the low light from the outside, Tatsuya can't tell how, and it's too tight for him to pull it off his head. He sighs. Taiga's not going to be happy.

"Hey, Taiga."

He doesn't move.

Tatsuya moves his mouth as close to Taiga's ear as possible. "Taiga!"

He starts, jerking his head forward into Tatsuya's chin. It's all Tatsuya can do not to jerk his head back and make things even more painful.

"Ow. Jesus, what the fuck, Tatsuya?"

"Our necklaces tangled."

Taiga attempts to maneuver his head around to look back in Tatsuya's face. Tatsuya sighs.

"Can you help me untangle it?"

Taiga squints. Then he flops down on the bed, bringing Tatsuya with him and their bodies smash together awkwardly. It's a few seconds before Tatsuya realizes that Taiga's hand is pressed against his groin, and it's a few more seconds before Taiga realizes it, too, but by then it's too late. Tatsuya gasps at the friction as Taiga slides his hand out and Taiga almost reflexively cups his hand around Tatsuya.

Their faces are too close to escape from each other; they both know how obvious it is—they can let this all pass by and have things remain awkward as they disentangle themselves or they can continue.

Their lips meet; Tatsuya slides a hand up under Taiga's sweatshirt and against the warm muscles of his back and they don't need to untangle themselves immediately because they don't need to move their faces away from each other right now. All they need is touch.

* * *

196\. April (Nebuya Eikichi)

He forgets an umbrella sometimes, halfway down the stairs from his room on the fourth floor and he decides he doesn't care enough, really, because they have morning practice and anyway the gym is close enough to the dorms. Reo yells at him and says he smells like a wet dog but Reo will always have something to complain about so it doesn't really matter.

April is his favorite month, not because his birthday's in April (it's at the tail end, anyway) but because of the rain washing away the last remnants of snow and ice and cold, because if it's raining consistently it's above freezing and his circulation is good enough to keep his body warm even when he's being splattered with cold water from above. It feels pleasant, too, the mist and the downpour and everything in-between—but he can't really explain it to anyone so he just leaves it unsaid. It's not worth the effort, even when Reo's muttering things under his breath and the rest of the team is giving him a wide berth except for Kotarou, who's asking inane questions just because he can ("Ei-chan, do you like to go dancing in the rain?") and he'd rather keep it to himself, anyway. He doesn't feel like sharing.


	5. May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> published may 2014 (jfc i wrote a lot)

197\. Dreams (Aomine Daiki/Murasakibara Atsushi)

"I dreamed about you, Mine-chin."

"Hmm," says Aomine, not looking up from his newspaper. "I wonder why."

Murasakibara leans his head on Aomine's shoulder and drapes an arm around his waist.

"I don't like dream-Mine-chin. You're the real one, right?"

"I mean, I'd say that even if I wasn't."

Murasakibara is silent but for his breathing, motionless except for the way his fingers drum on Aomine's abdomen.

"You're the real one," he says, satisfied.

* * *

198\. Fantasy (Fukuda Hiroshi, Kuroko Tetsuya)

"It was like…" Fukuda's voice trails off as he stuffs his hands into his pockets and looks up at the winter sun, sunk too far down for how early in the day it is to really seem right. "Fantasy."

Kuroko looks up. Fukuda seems to expect something, but he remains silent.

Fukuda exhales. "Just, to stand on the court with all of you, after all this time…or maybe it's the other way around. It didn't seem like any of this was real until I actually touched a basketball, you know?"

Kuroko blinks.

Fukuda laughs. "Shit, I sound so ungrateful and out of touch, but…you know?"

"I know," says Kuroko.

He does know the feeling of being on the sidelines for a whole game, due to lack of skill or injury, of being forced to watch even though he knows there is absolutely nothing he can do to change the flow when things go wrong but the strange hope that somehow he could go out there and be the hero, make the right pass to turn the tide or just be out there long enough to put everyone on alert.

And he smiles back at Fukuda.

* * *

199\. Bell (Kobori Kouji/Wakamatsu Kousuke)

Wakamatsu is like a church bell, strong and far from subtle, brash but dependable. He blushes when he takes Kobori's hand and is so busy freaking out he almost bumps into a pole and Kobori's heartbeat is kind of out of whack. Wakamatsu stammers out an apology and Kobori just smiles and squeezes his hand. That might be a mistake, though—Wakamatsu can't even speak anymore; he's just making helpless gestures (but it's not like Kobori can talk right now, either; Wakamatsu is too cute for words).

* * *

200\. Dissonance (Himuro Tatsuya/Mibuchi Reo)

Even though he takes care of them, Tatsuya's hands are worn out, wrinkled and freckled and hard with nails splitting and hangnails falling off. It doesn't hurt the absolute sureness of his shot or the delicacy with which he touches Reo, but still it's disconcerting, something way less beautiful than Reo has come to expect from Tatsuya. But still, it fits perfectly with him, with the Tatsuya he's come to know, who's much more than just a set of immaculate images and much more flawed than he wants Reo to believe (but less flawed than he believes he is).

* * *

201\. Lost in the Crowd (Susa Yoshinori/Kobori Kouji)

It's hard to lose someone as big as Kouji in the crowd, but somehow it happens—one minute he's beside Yoshinori's and the next he's who-knows-where. He's not one to randomly wander off, and although he hasn't got the strongest presence in the world his height certainly more than makes up for it. Yoshinori spins around in circles, feeling like an idiot before he pulls out his cell phone. And that's when Kouji puts a hand on his shoulder, briefly and lightly.

"I got us drinks."

"You could have said something."

Kouji shrugs. "I wasn't gone that long. But thank you."

He's strange (way more than he looks, at least) but it's wonderful and Yoshinori feels himself being metaphorically swept of his feet again. Damn.

* * *

202\. Passion (Aomine Daiki/Midorima Shintarou)

He has never had to hold back, drop half a step, slow his erratic rhythm and make it steadier, heavier, let the shot roll off his fingers with absolute certainty that even if it somehow does not reach its target it won't matter in the grand scheme of things, two or three points just like five-yen coins falling out of the hole in his shorts or lost points on a test due to his incorrigibly sloppy handwriting.

He can't even afford sunk costs against Shintarou; he's never been able to. For all that he's faster, more versatile, for whatever his quick reflexes and raw instincts are worth, it's never been enough to put him far enough above Shintarou that winning's a sure thing. Daiki's always had more raw ability than pretty much anyone else, and even unrefined he could blaze by most, kicking the Uncrowned Kings' asses even before he can figure them out, busting past Nijimura, not even mustering up enough energy to sneer at Haizaki. Murasakibara's always been too lazy and easily-distracted to win against him, even with his fierce competitive streak, and Kise and Kagami have been coming from behind to catch up—even if he goes all-out against them now they're not removed from a time where there was a tangible tip of the balance in Daiki's favor.

And yet, against Shintarou he can't hold back. He reaches out those long arms, claws the ball back somehow into his possession, refuses to give up, blocks Daiki's shots at awkward angles and then somehow creates the space to sink his own, same form every time, always the three points. He will not let Daiki go easy on him, and even though he loses every time it always seems one day the law of average or sheer luck will catch up to them (especially considering Shintarou's insane ability to turn the tables to his advantage in pretty much every other situation). Shintarou just might be more hungry and driven than Murasakibara at his wildest, than Akashi in his most delusional moments.

That passion, the competitive spirit, is always evident, from the way he squares his shoulders to the tightness with which he grasps Daiki's hand to the tension in his tone, tightly-controlled but there, simmering, rattling so softly that it's impossible to hear unless you know exactly what to listen for. He needs that skin-on-skin contact, to fill his mouth with the burning acidity of Shintarou's tongue, to touch the heat radiating from his body and to slide his fingers along those perfect contours.

"This is all your fault," he says, pushing Shintarou's chest down and pressing their bodies as close as they can get and have both of them still breathing.

Shintarou huffs defiantly and swings his arms upward, wrapping Daiki in something that's not quite an embrace, smushing his mouth against Daiki's neck and half-shuddering and purposeful or not, his intensity is unstoppable.

* * *

203\. Regal (Imayoshi Shouichi/Mibuchi Reo) for anon

Reo's got this artful arrogance about him, one that Shouichi probably wouldn't hesitate too much before calling regal—crownless or not, he acts like royalty, like he was born deserving the best.

"You know, it's kind of flattering," Shouichi says, letting his teeth show more prominently. "You always want the best of everything, and you're hanging around with me."

Reo purses his lips and lifts his chin, raising a thin eyebrow. "That's not cute, Shouichi."

"You think I'm cute? Aw, princess."

Reo snorts, tosses his hair—"I know you're not."

Shouichi laughs and pours Reo more tea, stirring in two cubes of sugar before Reo's long fingers reach the bowl.

"Something a little sweet for you, eh?"

It's cheesier than what he usually goes for; Reo blushes and lowers his eyes demurely, pulling the cup over to his side of the table. It's amusing how quickly he can go from blushing young ingénue to smoldering object of desire (though Shouichi has no desire to see him flip that switch right now; this way is more than entertaining enough), how he can beg Shouichi to tie him up and fuck him harder than he's ever thought possible and tell him how much of a naughty slut he's been, how he can murmur dirty talk with the same mouth that rests on the lip of the white porcelain cup, how his eyes can be glazed with a terrifying lust, glancing out from under the same long lashes in an entirely different way.

"What is it?"

"You're fascinating, Sweetheart."

"Do tell."

Reo's shoulders dip; from this angle and in this pose he seems smaller than Shouichi. That's as good a place as any to start.

* * *

204\. Saturday Nights (Nijimura Shuuzou/Himuro Tatsuya) for anon

Some Saturday nights, Tatsuya drives them out to someone's house party in his mom's old car with shitty radio reception (they listen to as much of the basketball game as they can make out anyway) where they hang out with kids neither of them knows or likes all that much at some stranger's house overflowing with teenagers and loud music, words unintelligible (Shuuzou's not sure whether it's intentional on the singer's part or because of the chatter or because the volume's too much for the speakers so they screech and scratch or some mixture of the three, only that it's best not to pay too much attention) and they pay their respects to the hosts and Tatsuya deflects female attention like it's his job (and it might as well be; they should pay him for being so patient) and sip lukewarm beers and leave the half-empty cans in the kitchen before they go, and Shuuzou gives a half-nod to the guy in the beanie tuning his guitar and it's only when they get out onto the porch that Shuuzou realizes how his t-shirt is drenched with sweat and how he's been holding Tatsuya's hand this whole time so as not to lose him in the crowd. Tatsuya smiles up at him and kisses him; they've kissed under so many porch lights and in so many driveways with the gravel stabbing at their feet through worn-out sneakers, and Shuuzou wants to be tired of this hackneyed version of teen America but there's a reason they glamorize it on TV, because this is what everyone wants and this is what Shuuzou wants, too, smooth hands in the wide backseat of Tatsuya's car, Tatsuya's smile in the moonlight that's so bright it seems like a mirage, lips and teeth and skin on skin. They drive back afterward and Shuuzou puts his feet up on the dashboard and his left hand on Tatsuya's thigh and they stop at a red light and Tatsuya looks at him, softened smile and matted hair and still too beautiful for words.

Their limbs tangle up on Tatsuya's twin bed, too small even for him alone, half-dressed and half under the covers; Tatsuya's regained some of his self-consciousness again so Shuuzou has to pull him closer and he wants to mumble something about how ridiculous it is for Tatsuya to act this way but Tatsuya doesn't need a reminder and Shuuzou's always been too impatient for his own good and too willing to carry the moment farther than it should go. In sleep, Tatsuya's fists curl around the hem of Shuuzou's shirt and he loses the heaviness and weariness that hovers around him like a dull glow, of things he has not told Shuuzou, things he may never tell him, things that are difficult for him to voice. Shuuzou clasps him tighter; he won't let Tatsuya get more lost than he already is.

* * *

205\. Turn the Tables (Liu Wei/Fukui Kensuke) for anon

As soon as Fukui gets off the plane, Liu shoves several magazines into Fukui's arms.

"I'll get your bag," he says, and before Fukui can tell him he can carry it on his own, thanks, Liu's got it hoisted over his shoulders (which have gotten way more massive in the few months since Fukui last saw him; it's already unfair that he's so tall but he's filling out, too, muscles rippling through his t-shirt and whoa Fukui totally wasn't staring or anything).

"So, where are we headed?" Fukui says as Liu hails them a taxi.

"I thought we'd go to my apartment; you can meet my roommates and get settled in."

Liu sounds oddly cheerful, and had this been anyone else Fukui would have started to get suspicious—but it's Liu. He's too naïve for that sort of thing.

They get out at a decent-looking apartment building, fairly tall; Liu has to fiddle with the key in the front door and the lobby is actually quite clean. Liu says he lives on the third floor; they take the stairs and Fukui has to actively try to not to stare at the way Liu's ass is moving on the stairs ahead of him, willing Liu not to toss a sneaky smirk back down at him (and mercifully he doesn't). He unlocks the door to his apartment and flings it open; it's well-lit and two guys are sitting on the couch watching TV.

One of them says something in Chinese to Liu, jerking his head at Fukui. Liu nods and shrugs, pointing at Fukui.

"Hey, you want to let me in on the conversation?"

The guy who hasn't spoken blinks. "I…am knowing a bit of Japanese."

Fukui grins at him. "Nice to meet you. I'm Fukui."

"I'm Zhou."

The guy next to Zhou, who still hasn't introduced himself, is gesturing wildly at Fukui.

"Dude," says Zhou. "I know we just met, but are those really porno magazines?"

Fukui looks at the magazines in his hands. Sure enough, it's hard core shrink-wrapped XXX magazines.

"Oi, Liu, what the hell? He gave them to me!"

"It's okay, you're Japanese. We understand." Zhou winks at him. Just, like, don't flaunt it everywhere you go. It's seen as, you know, rude here."

Heat is rising to Fukui's face and he smacks Liu with the magazines. "Hey!"

"Payback," says Liu, smiling wider.

"You motherfucker," says Fukui.

But Fukui can't help but be proud; he's clearly taught Liu well in the ways of pranking.

"Anyway, where's the bedroom?" Fukui says. "I have a reputation to uphold, you know, and you might be able to help me with that."

Liu raises an eyebrow but grabs him by the hand and drags him down the hall. This is going to be a fun vacation.

* * *

206\. The Overload (Harasawa Katsunori/Imayoshi Shouichi/Susa Yoshinori)

Susa whines, flushing; his puils are dilating and his breath comes in heavy pants against Harasawa's shoulder, back muscles rippling under Imayoshi's touch and hips trying to resist jerking up against Harasawa. Susa's always been the type to force himself to keep his wants in check; it's easy for both of them to take advantage of it and suppress their own guilt—he's long overdue a repayment.

Imayoshi's free hand reaches over Susa's shoulder and into Harasawa's hair, running along his jaw, and Harasawa sighs, hands slowing against Susa's skin. Susa whines and presses a sloppy kiss to Harasawa's chin; Imayoshi pushes Susa closer against Harasawa and all three of them move together, Susa's hands running lower on Harasawa's sides, pinching his hips and then cupping his cock. His fingers are thick and rough but quite nimble; he handles skin very differently from the way he handles a basketball but with the same dexterity and quick reaction, feeling Harasawa yield when he touches a particular spot and dancing around it—fuck, he feels like a teenager again, disoriented and dizzy and full of desire.

Imayoshi's fingers are brushing against his nipples, flicking and teasing and tracing circles and it feels like he's doing all three at once which has to be impossible; he's being tricked and he barely has enough awareness to reach back and touch, press a hand into someone's (Susa's?) sternum.

Imayoshi laughs; he hears it but doesn't feel it before both of their mouths start sucking on his neck and Harasawa gasps. This was supposed to be about them, not him, and yet here they are, both of them on top of him and tangled in each other. It shouldn't fit the way it does; physics should say otherwise, about how their joints are twisted (even in their youthful limberness there's a breaking point) and how close they all are, how they breathe in one another and their bodies are blending together, but it doesn't matter, does it?

* * *

207\. First Time (Hayama Kotarou/Miyaji Kiyoshi) for anon

There's definitely something off about Hayama today—not that there isn't a lot that's off about him in the first place, but today the kid seems like he's on a mission. Miyaji's pretty sure he doesn't want to know anything about whatever the hell this mission is, although he has the sneaking suspicion that it involves him—as Hayama's plans do way too goddamn much of the time.

"Out with it, brat."

"Hmm?"

"Don't play innocent with me; what do you want?"

"Senpai!" says Hayama, snatching Miyaji's hands into his. "Let's do something fun!"

"Like what?"

Hayama's idea of fun usually involves torturing Miyaji in some way or other, like the time he insisted he was going to teach Miyaji how to skateboard and pushed Miyaji off the half pipe and he got a concussion, or the time he wanted to make cupcakes and they got cake batter on Miyaji's mother's kitchen ceiling, or whenever they go to movies that Miyaji really doesn't want to see and he tries to get some sleep but Hayama keeps talking and poking him and trying to kiss him in the dark because it's so romantic.

Hayama blinks up at Miyaji and then shoves his hands down Miyaji's pants. "Let's have sex! We've known each other long enough now."

"What the fuck? Get your hands out of there!" Miyaji pulls at Hayama's wrists but he's dug into Miyaji's underwear with his clawlike nails and he will not let go; the jostling is making Miyaji more than slightly uncomfortable. And what was that about knowing each other?

"How long do you wait before you sleep with people? Do you have like a million diseases from that or something? I don't want to be tainted!"

"Huh? I've never had sex before. I'm a virgin; I'm saving myself for you!"

Miyaji loosens his grip and Hayama takes the moment to shove Miyaji's pants down and take a good, long look at his cock.

"Oi! Brat!" Miyaji stumbles backward; his pants fall even farther and he slams to the ground. Hayama's enthusiastically grinding his hips against Miyaji's leg and touching him.

"Ooh, you're getting hard. Yours takes a little longer than mine, huh?"

"Get the fuck off me!"

And then Hayama's mouth closes around Miyaji's cock, hot and wet and slick and for once there is some blessed quiet. Miyaji moans; all that talking must have given Hayama practice on how to use his tongue well—is he really a virgin? Miyaji fists his hand in Hayama's hair and tugs him upward, urging him to take him all the way into his mouth. Hayama might actually be right about this being fun—for once (it's not like Miyaji's going to tell him that, though).

* * *

208\. In the Club (Nijimura Shuuzou/Himuro Tatsuya, Kise Ryouta/Midorima Shintarou) for andromedadarkblade

Midorima doesn't seem like the type of guy who'd enjoy a club like this, but Shuuzou supposes he doesn't, either—and really, he doesn't like it all that much. He's not particularly social, and even though he's very coordinated dancing doesn't do it for him. If the decision was up to him, he'd stay home and hang out or go play basketball, but Tatsuya's restlessness won't let him stay and Shuuzou doesn't really want to stay home alone.

"Is Himuro-san with you?" Midorima says after ordering a drink.

Shuuzou nods. "He got dragged off by a horde of girls who wanted someone to dance with, and he can't say no to that sort of thing."

Midorima nods. "Ryouta's like that, too. Unfortunately."

Even as he complains, Midorima's lips curve upward as he spots Kise on the dance floor, swaying in time with the music and smiling brightly, moving from girl to girl in a fluid motion that's practiced but unforced.

"You like him a lot, huh?" Shuuzou says.

"Yes," says Midorima.

The straightforward seriousness with which he answers makes Shuuzou draw back—Midorima's always been cagey about his feelings, even toward basketball (something he took up "naturally" due to his height) and his favorite novels (their "educational value" couldn't have been that high). Shuuzou grins back and flicks his forehead, and then Midorima scowls.

"What was that for?"

"You've grown up a lot, kid."

Midorima rolls his eyes.

Kise's changed, too; Shuuzou barely knew him but he always seemed like a snobby airhead, innocently negligent of other people's feelings. But somehow, he's helped bring Midorima out of his shell and away from the shy arrogance that had surrounded him like a cloud.

And back then, Shuuzou hadn't met Tatsuya yet, either, and he'd thought nothing of any other boys, only of basketball and the team and his father's health. Tatsuya's brought him out of his own shell, even though Tatsuya might be the origin of the phrase "alone in the crowd".

Midorima raises his glass.

"To what?" says Shuuzou.

"The future, I suppose," says Midorima.

A sweaty Kise drapes his arm around Midorima's shoulder. "Aw, that's so sweet."

"It's all I could think of with all this loud music," says Midorima.

Kise ignores him, pressing a kiss to his cheek and taking a sip of his drink.

"Wow, that's pretty strong for you," says Kise. "Make sure he doesn't pass out, okay, Nijimuracchi?"

Shuuzou grins. "What, can't hold his liquor?"

Kise grins and shakes his head.

"I just don't drink that often," says Midorima.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," says Kise. "Your flush is so cute."

Midorima huffs and slides his drink across the bar.

Shuuzou feels a hand on his shoulder; he turns around to see Tatsuya smiling in amusement.

"Hey, you," says Shuuzou.

"Hey," says Tatsuya, leaning in for a kiss.

He tastes like citrus and his hands are warm and fit perfectly inside of Shuuzou's, and where they started and where they're going doesn't really matter because they're here right now.

* * *

209\. Cheer Up (Mibuchi Reo/Kagami Taiga) for partyinwesteros

Reo thanks whatever higher powers exist for small miracles, that his key clicks smoothly in the lock and the apartment smells like baking chicken and something sweet and Taiga, three of his favorite things—after a day like this, anything good seems like both a small miracle and something long overdue.

"I'm home," he calls, slipping off his shoes and hanging up his coat.

Taiga's in the kitchen, and Reo almost falls into his arms (he only doesn't by virtue of Taiga getting to him almost instantaneously and catching him before he falls—does he look that bad?) and closes his eyes, breathing in the smell of sweat and generic shampoo.

"Welcome back," Taiga whispers, rubbing circles into Reo's back, easing the tension for the first time today.

"Rough day?"

"Mm." Reo nuzzles Taiga's neck; he'd rather not think about it, especially now when he's finally starting to shake the feeling.

Taiga strokes his cheek softly, tucks his hair behind an ear and then kisses that ear.

"I bought flowers on my way back," Taiga says, pointing to the vase in the center of the table.

The bouquet of irises, daisies, and dahlias must be the cause of the sweet smell, and they're bright and healthy, perking toward the late afternoon light coming in through the window. Reo smiles at Taiga, and Taiga grins back, hand still massaging between Reo's shoulders.

"Dinner will be ready in 10," Taiga says. "I put some wine in the freezer."

Maybe this day can be salvaged.

* * *

210\. Flaunt It (Mibuchi Reo/Hara Kazuya) for eternalelysium

Hara might not be as blatant as say, Furuhashi, but he's been called a pervert too many times to count and despite the lack of strong positive correlation between popular opinion and fact, it's probably true. And in the scheme of things, being a pervert isn't all that bad (of course, it helps when your bangs hide your eyes; they work like one-way glass).

Anyway, it's not really his fault if his boyfriend relishes in the attention; Nebuya enjoys it (from anyone and everyone) and he might be too cocky but he's got a lot to be proud of. Like those back muscles and the way they ripple whenever he moves (as such, Hara's instituted a no shirts in the house policy that only Nebuya has to follow). Nope, Hara wouldn't be looking quite as much if Nebuya wasn't so eager to show him—some might say that it takes the fun out of the chase, but in Hara's opinion it's easier to just let him do his thing.

(The bedroom, however, is another story.)

* * *

211\. Competition (Sakurai Ryou, Hyuuga Junpei) for anonymous

Nothing brings out Sakurai's skills like being provoked, in one way or another. Tsugawa trash-talks him; Midorima shoots faster and farther; Mibuchi looks down on him and dares him to match his shots; Himuro can't be blocked; Nakamura blocks him every time. They all push his buttons and squeeze on his resolve until he releases the ball quicker and quicker, like taps on speed, not bothering to even put the ball on his palms, and it swishes meaner and faster through the hoop.

Hyuuga is different. He insults, berates, and then has the audacity to back it up with a shot that grows steadier and more reliable as Sakurai's does, instead of leveling off at a previous level or falling with his endurance. He's exactly like Sakurai, only not—there's no way Sakurai's going to be compared to some idiot glasses guy like that. He's the one who's better, and he's not going to let that asshole steal his thunder and his pride and his role.

* * *

212\. A Future (Aomine Daiki/Kagami Taiga) for redbasketeer

They're in the awkward month of limbo between the end of the school year and the start of summer training (American college seems like mostly vacation, which continues to both delight and confuse Aomine), the time they have that's all to themselves and each other, infinitely precious and far too short for Kagami's liking. It's not that he's worried about the future (there was a time when he couldn't imagine Aomine settling down, but now he'd like to think he could make it happen) but there will be injuries and sponsorships and taxes and adult things like that to tug on their hours and break them down until their schedules re almost incompatible. Kagami's always been naive and idealistic, but he can't escape this, the way it stares in his face and as their stars rise in the basketball world it creeps up on them: recognition, fame, people pulling at their hands and their minds. They'll want something like this, this kind of quiet freedom, but it's going to be hard.

That doesn't mean Kagami wants a future with Aomine any less, but he wants a present with him even more, wants to relish every time their hands brush and every blocked shot and he wants to catch every word from Aomine's tongue like rain in his sneakers only he never wants to pour it out.

He will never get tired of the way Aomine says his name, rough and raw and beautiful (he's never been especially fond of it but it sounds so perfect when it's pressed into his mouth, whispered in the middle of a kiss, more romantic and sweet than he'd ever thought Aomine could be (Aomine sidesteps the issue whenever Kagami tries to say something, hooks his thumbs through Kagami's belt loops and tugs him closer again). He, too, craves the closeness, the touches and looks and words and feelings, teases them out of Kagami until he feels like he's going to burst from the combination of embarrassment, exasperation, and love welling up inside of him.

* * *

213\. Consideration (Mibuchi Reo/Akashi Seijuurou) for anon

Seijuurou's hand is cool and fits perfectly inside of Reo's; their hands lock together like gears in a machine, like this was meant to be. Reo believes in fate, of course, that the cards predict the future with a great deal of accuracy (although there are always things that will remain unaccounted for by even the most intricate of readings), but this is more than that. To give fate ll the credit wouldn't be fair when they've worked so hard just to be here, to be secure walking down the street together like this.

Seijuurou stops in front of a shop and turns to look up at Reo.

"What do you think of those earrings?"

Reo wrinkles his nose. "I'm not too crazy about the color combination, to be honest."

"I see," says Seijuurou.

It's things like this, how considerate Seijuurou can be, how his quiet smile can light up the room and how each one of his words holds so much power—things like this are what makes Reo fall in love with Seijuurou all over again.

"Let's get some tea, Sei-chan."

"Yes," says Seijuurou, squeezing Reo's hand gently.

* * *

214\. Switch-Up (Mibuchi Reo/Himuro Tatsuya) for bookwormism101

When they go two-on-two in street ball, Reo plays forward, blocks layups with a rattling force and drives through the opponent's defense and throw in a dunk or two—it's rough and free and not at all like his polished, usual style, with none of the delicacy and a different kind of finesse. It's every bit as beautiful, but when Tatsuya tells him this Reo shakes his head.

"This isn't about beauty."

But it is, and beauty is in the eye of the beholder, isn't it? The lust in Reo's eyes when he's on the inside, jostling for position, is just as deep and smoldering as it is when he's absolutely fed up with an obnoxious defender and is about to unleash a powerful three, or when he's pushing Tatsuya down on the bed and straddling his hips and putting his hands right there—it's so gorgeous and captivating that Tatsuya can do nothing but stop and stare.

* * *

215\. Useless (Himuro Tatsuya/Alexandra Garcia) for crossdressingkurapika

It seems like a standoff, but she falls asleep before he does, age and overwork letting her down, glasses slipping down her nose and hair pooling on the pillow. Her forehead is creased in a frown but she still looks beautiful, devastatingly so, perhaps even more because she is still his—even though their connection is being severed like a loose tooth, twisted and leaving bleeding wounds and refusing to let go and sever and move on and regrow.

Tatsuya doesn't want to regrow.

He buries his face in her chest, wraps his arms around her, holds her while he still can, wants to imprint the memory of her in his mind (even though he knows it will torture him in its vividness)—they will glare at each other, snip and grate on each other's nerves, be the people they know the other doesn't want them to be. They will argue and scream and they're both so stubborn, so stubbornly in love and so stubbornly wrong for each other, so incompatible that it makes Tatsuya sick and his throat constrict and his eyes well up.

They both want to be blameless; they shy from delivering the killing blow—it's funny; they're so blunt and hurtful, lashing out at other people with angry words, intended but later rescinded anyway just to smooth things over—there's a small part of both of them that wants to salvage this, to take it back to the months of happiness together. But it will never happen, so they continue to be partners in misery.

He's crying into the front of her shirt and gripping her so tightly that she's woken up again; she rubs circles on his back and whispers soothing words into his ears and doesn't ask exactly what he's thinking, doesn't dig into him and erase his caginess and pinpoint his weak spot—she already knows but doesn't want or need confirmation right now.

"I love you," she whispers, and it only makes it even worse.

He sobs, disgusted with himself and with her and with the world.

* * *

216\. Reaction (Hara Kazuya/Furuhashi Koujirou) for anonymous

Hara's not one to back off from a challenge, but Furuhashi's poker face is on a whole new level, and at a certain point it's going to become a huge waste of time, if it hasn't already. He slams a door in Furuhashi's face and Furuhashi just wipes the blood off his nose with Hara's spare gym shirt and gets him back the next day. The escalating prank war is fun as hell, but Furuhashi never cracks a smile or a frown, staring straight ahead with those dead eyes the whole time. It's frustrating in a way few things are, and Hara starts getting even bolder.

He kisses Furuhashi in the locker room, keeps his eyes open the whole time and ends up regretting it because of the dissonance between Furuhashi's blank expression and the way he's pushing back forcefully with his tongue. Hara gropes him in the hallway and Furuhashi pretends not to notice, except he gropes Hara back in the classroom and on the bench, pretends like he doesn't know what the fuck he's doing when he's palming Hara thoruhg his uniform shorts. Hara grins because Furuhashi's hands feel damn good until Furuhashi squeezes his balls way too hard and Hara falls down. It's a damn good thing he doesn't have to play right now because the pain overtakes him and he swears a blue streak and still Furuhashi looks so fucking apathetic.

He yanks down Furuhashi's shorts in the showers after gym class and starts sucking his cock; Furuhashi gets hard but his face doesn't change—he's not even looking at Hara's head. It's like there's some sort of disconnect between mind and body and it's bothering Hara even more than it already did; even as Furuhashi's face flushes and he jerks his hips into Hara's mouth.

"Can't you try and be sexy?" says Hara.

This, at least, elicits an eye roll.

"Whatever," says Hara. "Finish yourself."

He gets up and leaves Furuhashi hard, turns around and watches and Furuhashi still looks bored as he jerks himself off, breathing only slightly labored. It probably wasn't worth it.

* * *

217\. Stealing (Haizaki Shougo/Hanamiya Makoto) for anonymous

Shougo doesn't have anything for Hanamiya, but Hanamiya's expecting something—pity, sympathy, help. Shougo expects Hanamiya to pay his half of the rent, and that's it—Hanamiya acts like it's such a tragedy that his family lost so much money and status, that he's alone in the world without any power or connection to anything, but Shougo's the wrong person to lay this on. It's better to have had it and known what it felt like to be on top, to have things, than to always want and want and want, to build it up bigger than it is with no limits on imagination. For his first twenty years, Hanamiya was part of a world that Shougo at his best and brightest and most promising could never get close to touching.

He still insists on being treated like a king, on being handed things on a silver platter—the world doesn't work that way; he's too smart to be this naïve but somehow everything always came easy to him. It's kind of funny to see the exasperation, the fear on his face; he gets fired and can't get another job based on his experience and his education and Shougo just shrugs indifferently at him and increases the frequency with which he refers to Hanamiya as "Makoto-bocchama".

But it's not fun, because he can't take anything from Hanamiya; Hanamiya's got nothing—he's got nothing to lose, which is pretty damn dangerous if he ever realizes it—not innocence, no heart or compassion (not that Shougo would even really want those). Shougo gets him drunk on cheap beer and fucks him on the couch, but he's no virgin either; he's a good lay and his tongue's good with more than just vaguely sinister words and empty threats. There's nothing to take, nothing at all, but somehow, when they're disentangling their bodies and fighting over who gets to take a shower first, Shougo realizes he might want Hanamiya anyway.

* * *

218\. Thankful (Mayuzumi Chihiro/Mibuchi Reo) for anonymous

"Thank you," Mayuzumi whispers.

It's not an obstinate or begrudging sentence, but an expression of his genuine gratitude—before today Mibuchi might have made a sarcastic remark, but after everything that's happened, after the end of the match and Akashi's words and actions, he can't. He cuddles closer to Mayuzumi, kissing the back of his neck.

"It was foolish of you," says Mayuzumi.

What the hell is he talking about?

"My time here is done; you win nothing for standing up for me and probably hurt your own standing with Akashi—I don't think you did it to get in my pants, but if you did you're a good actor and a good lay anyway."

"That's vulgar," says Mibuchi. "And you thanked me anyway."

"There's a reason this sort of action happens in novels sometimes—does it happen in poetry, too?"

It's clear Mayuzumi's not going anywhere, so Mibuchi loosens his grip and nuzzles him again, careful not to brush up against either of their sore spots.

Mayuzumi sighs. "You're terrible. All of you, not listening, doing the wrong things…you're lucky you're pretty, you know."

And then he lies still in Mibuchi's arms, if not content as close to it as he'll ever get.

* * *

219\. Tense (Mayuzumi Chihiro/Takao Kazunari/Kuroko Tetsuya) for anonymous

Everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong—Kazunari had dropped passes and almost fouled out of the game; Tetsuya's misdirection had been altogether ineffective and he'd been knocked off the ball so easily. It wasn't because they were playing against each other; they'd been able to do it before and usually brought out the best in each other. Something, today, had been completely off.

"Even watching you was painful," Chihiro says, which does nothing to lighten the mood.

They're all glaring at each other in the living room, on separate chairs. One of them is going to have to give in, but neither of them wants to—but stubbornness takes energy. They're weary and needy, and Kazunari reaches out first (because he always does; he's more forgiving and more open in a way that Chihiro and Tetsuya will never be) and pulls both of them close to him, rubs circles on their backs and they have no other words. Tongues meet tongues and eyes meet eyes and clothes come off and Chihiro forgets how much he hates doing it on the couch because their lithe bodies are covering his and they're moving against each other in a wonderful friction.

* * *

220\. Deep Affection (Kasamatsu Yukio/Takao Kazunari) for anonymous

There's something about the way Takao is so eager to learn that's kind of appealing; it's different from the way Kasamatsu's kouhai are, too loud or too standoffish or some combination of the two. He's open and refreshing, listens attentively as Kasamatsu explains the way he does things and is already figuring out in his head how he can make them work for himself. He's not like Kise; he can't just copy something when he sees it or hears an explanation. He knows his body has limitations, but he can work within them, can push and pull on the edges and smooth out the wrinkles—he's got remarkable perspective for a freshman.

Sometimes, though, he's an absolute brat, but Kasamatsu can't hold it against him. He gets more annoyed at himself for being unable to stay mad than he gets annoyed at Takao. It's uncomfortable, this feeling (whatever it is). He wants to stay away but get close to Takao; he wants to play basketball with him forever or talk forever or just sit and stare at him forever and he feels like he's about to explode, until the point where whenever he thinks about Takao he starts blushing and stuttering.

And then Takao corners him, strange glint in his eye that's more dangerous than anything Kasamatsu's ever seen, and then Takao's lips are on his, soft and sweet and foreign and Kasamatsu can't help but give in.

* * *

221\. Cats (Mayuzumi Chihiro/Mibuchi Reo/Hanamiya Makoto)

They're like cats, honestly; they're so fussy and particular about everything and they refuse to share and they can't get along—they find every excuse to make a snide remark or act openly aggressive and it's just so exhausting sometimes. Reo wonders if he should buy them both muzzles or something—they might be into that, though, and that's not really the point (but on the other hand they're both practically hissing at each other right now and Reo's in the middle).

Reo rubs the back of Makoto's neck and squeezes Chihiro's hand but it's having absolutely no effect on either of them. The tension in the air is thick and suffocating; Reo sighs and stands up.

"Fine. Fight."

"Hold on," says Chihiro. "Where do you think you're going?"

Reo shrugs. "Out. Until you two can solve your problems like humans."

Makoto raises an eyebrow at Chihiro and together they grab Reo and pull him back down. Reo's stronger than either of them one-on-one, but together they easily overpower him, especially when they start moving their hands up and down his thighs and breathing on his neck.

"You're not going anywhere."

At least they agree on something.

* * *

222\. Lovely Hands (Mibuchi Reo/Hanamiya Makoto) for anonymous

"You're sly, Mako-chan," Reo purrs, playing with Makoto's belt, running his fingers underneath the waistband of his pants as Makoto looks away and fails at not blushing.

"I don't know what you mean," says Makoto. He reaches up and strokes the side of Reo's face, trying and failing to match his gaze.

"It's cute how you're using a variation on my shot. Very flattering, actually."

"You think that's a variation on your shot? How arrogant."

"I know it is," says Reo.

He finally succeeds in untucking Makoto's shirt and runs his hands up Makoto's bare torso underneath; Makoto shudders. His skin is cool and his muscles are firm and he leans into Reo's touch. Reo knows how Makoto is fixated on his hands (something that apparently extends to basketball as well; the jumps were different but the fingerings and wrist motions and grips were all Reo's) and he's probably too vain about it, but Makoto hasn't stopped him yet. He still looks petulant but doesn't protest, only moaning and whining under Reo's fingers.

* * *

223\. Naturals (Mibuchi Reo/Takao Kazunari/Himuro Tatsuya)

"That one's so plain," the agent says, pointing to Takao.

Mibuchi flinches. "Excuse me?"

"It's not a bad thing; you two are so beautiful and he complements you well. On your own, you'd be overpowering but he brings balance."

Kise winces.

"That's what you were trying to say, huh?" says Takao.

He doesn't seem too put out, and squeezes both of their hands. "I know I'm an incredibly lucky guy to have two gorgeous boyfriends like you."

Reo still feels like he has to say something, anything—

Tatsuya strokes his hair. "Don't worry about it, Reo. We've all got our insecurities."

Reo bites his lip. Kazunari squeezes his hand again, and then the flashbulb snaps.

"Great pose!" says the photographer.

"See? I told you they were naturals," says Kise.

* * *

224\. Unresloved (Akashi Seijuurou/Mibuchi Reo) for flutterizou

Akashi's lingering gaze at Mibuchi's backside as he stands at the free-throw line is more than painfully obvious.

"We should be taking shots every time they do this shit," says Nebuya.

Mayuzumi couldn't have said it better himself. While this kind of tension builds up a wonderful suspense in light novels, it's grating and suffocating in real life. On the other hand, he'd probably end up passing out (even with his strong tolerance for alcohol) if they actually did it—although then he wouldn't have to stand the sights.

Akashi makes a note on his clipboard and Mibuchi stares back at him, agony and frustration and desire all-too-clear in his eyes.

"Hey, Reo-nee!"

"Shut up, Hayama," says Nebuya. "They deserve it for putting us through this."

"Hm?" says Mibuchi.

"Nice shots!" says Hayama.

Mibuchi turns back to the basket and Hayama scowls up at Nebuya. "I'm sick of this, too, Ei-chan. Plus, if they're happy, they won't be so annoying."

"Are you kidding me?" says Nebuya. "Reo will be ten times worse. He's already like, 'Sei-chan this,' 'Sei-chan that,' 'Do you think Sei-chan will like this outfit,' and if they get together he'll give me all the details of their sex life and I don't want that."

"Do you really think Akashi would let him tell you?"

"Only because he knows I don't want to hear it."

"It's good to see you three getting along, but you do need to practice your basketball," Akashi calls out. "Thirty laps each."

Perhaps if they got together, Mibuchi could stick his tongue down Akashi's throat and prevent him from assigning them more work.

* * *

225\. Poetry (Mibuchi Reo/Mayuzumi Chihiro) for crimsontentacles

Reo sucks in another breath to try and keep his voice from quaking. Chihiro nibbles lightly on his ear, hands hovering millimeters above Reo's groin. It's taking all he has to not buck his hips up against Chihiro, to not moan and squeeze shut his eyes, to keep paying even the slightest bit of attention to the book in his hands, to remember how to read the foreign alphabet, to not crumple the pages in his hands.

"The wrong…of unshapely—"

Reo bites his tongue. Chihiro is softly rolling his hips up against Reo and one of his hands is tugging at the button on Reo's shirt, the other pinching at Reo's inner thigh.

"Of unshapely things is a…wrong too great…ahh…"

Chihiro is rubbing circles on the edge of Reo's nipple; Reo's hand is shaking and he almost drops the book.

"You need to learn to focus better," says Chihiro.

His breath is hot against Reo's ear and Reo squirms, trying to shift into a more comfortable position. Chihiro increases the tempo of his hips and fingers and this time Reo does drop the book, whimpering as it falls.

"You lose," Chihiro whispers.

(For a consolation prize, this isn't half-bad.)

* * *

226\. Missing You (Kasamatsu Yukio/Mibuchi Reo) for anonymous

It's a damn good thing that Yukio lives in Kanagawa because Reo is definitely not ready for that much cuteness in his life every day. His earnest bluster and sweet face, his firm nature and tough exterior—they combine to make him too cute. And even so, he's sweet on Reo and takes care of him, reminds Reo exactly how much more experience and confidence he has when he's just one year older.

Still, Reo misses him when he's gone, misses his scolding, the way he gets flustered when Reo gets handsy with him, the strength of his arm as he shyly winds it around Reo's waist. The feelings of frustrated desire, the obvious difference in the way Yukio sounds on the phone, this distance is too much. But it feels a little better when they're doing a video call and Reo blows him a kiss and Yukio blushes and looks down and admits how much he wants Reo, too, that the distance is placing a strain on him that he doesn't want, either. Even if the tug on Reo's heart increases, he feels less alone.

* * *

227\. Chill (Iwamura Tsutomi/Kasuga Ryuuhei) for anon

They get off work at the same time and meet at the arcade, complain about stupid coworkers in between venting frustrations by playing shooting, driving, and dancing games—Kasuga's better at shooters; Iwamura wins at driving; and they've both mastered the hardest level of the dance games thanks to all of their martial arts-style basketball training.

It's dark enough outside and a short enough walk back to the apartment for them to hold hands, Kasuga knocking their joined fingers against Iwamura's thigh. The silence is comfortable and familiar; they're both pretty tired. In the elevator, Iwamura lifts Kasuga up and kisses him against the wall, fingers gripping Kasuga's ass and arms stuck to the contours of his side. They almost miss their floor and tumble out into the hallway, Kasuga grabbing the keys from inside Iwamura's pocket with fingertips dragging against Iwamura's leg through the thin fabric.

They collapse on the couch and wait for their breathing to slow; Kasuga wraps a blanket around them and Iwamura presses kisses to the side of Kasuga's face.

"You need a haircut."

"Yeah, I know. It's getting in my eyes."

Iwamura lifts up Kasuga's bangs to kiss his forehead and Kasuga sighs back into his arms, relishing in the familiar physical comfort. They're going to have to get up at some point to shower and actually go to bed, but he'll wait. After a day like today, he'll savor the comfort of Iwamura's warm arms and strong chest and the scratch of the stubble on Iwamura's chin against his cheek.

"Hey, Ryuu?"

"What?"

"Nothing."

Kasuga sighs and curls his fingers around Iwamura's beneath the blanket.

(-)

They wake up at three in the morning, lights still on and arms still around each other, stiff from the awkward position. Kasuga sighs and leads Iwamura off toward the bathroom—they're not going to be able to go back to sleep so they might as well wake up as best they can.

Once again, Iwamura lifts up Kasuga against the wall, cold tiles making Kasuga shudder as the warm water pounds down on his head and shoulders and Iwamura's touching and sucking all the right places. He hangs on tightly even though he knows Iwamura won't drop him, relishing the feel of the firm muscles and smooth skin under his fingertips.

* * *

228\. Handcuffs (Hanamiya Makoto/Sakurai Ryou) for anonymous

Makoto should probably shut up now. He keeps saying things can't get worse and then they do—even if this feels like it's the worst, there's probably some hidden horror about to emerge. First, he and Hara had run into that stupid Imayoshi guy and one of his annoying, loud kouhai who keeps apologizing for everything—blaming him was fun at first but then it got really annoying and he still won't shut up; he's blubbering even now from where he is on Makoto's lap, a position resulting from more unfortunate events—Hara sticking his chewed gum to Makoto's favorite pants and almost certainly ruining them, and that clumsy Sakurai falling on top of his lap and sticking.

The only way out is apparently to take off their pants, which Makoto is definitely not going to do. He's trying to make Sakurai do it (dumb brat deserves to walk around in his underwear) but he keeps sobbing, apologizing, and wiggling around, which is spreading the gum and making Makoto extremely uncomfortable.

"I'm going to kill you, Hara."

Hara shrugs and pops a fresh piece of gum into his mouth. "You'll thank me later. Figured you'd want a piece of that ass."

Sakurai wiggles even harder, and oh, fuck, speaking of hard—

"I'm sorry! I'm so, so, sorry!"

"If you were sorry you would have taken off your pants already and stopped moving around."

"You're quite the exhibitionist, Hana-chan."

"You shut up, too."

Makoto reaches around, intending to unbutton Sakurai's jeans and push him out of them, when his hand brushes against Sakurai's crotch, and—is he seriously hard, too? Kids are so fucking easy and eager.

Makoto sighs. Sakurai whines and tries to buck his hips against Makoto's hand.

"You'll get kicked out if you keep that up," says Imayoshi.

* * *

229\. Spiffy (Seto Kentarou/Momoi Satsuki)

Hara catches Seto fixing his tuxedo in the mirror and claps him on the shoulder. "Spiffy."

Seto raises an eyebrow. "Should I be wary of that statement?"

Hara grins. "Nah, it's me. Would I lie to you?"

Seto snorts and frowns. Something still looks off.

"Ha-kun, what are you doing to him?"

Satsuki's standing the doorway fussing with her bracelet and wearing the exasperated expression that's the norm whenever she's around his friends (or her own).

"Hey, dollface," says Hara. "I can't believe you'd suspect me, either. Damn."

Satsuki rolls her eyes but smiles. "Well, there's nothing to suspect you of—and I don't suspect things; I know them."

Hara shrugs. Satsuki strolls over to them and eyes Seto critically; Seto leans down and presses his lips to her neck. She smells like the sweet, subtle perfume she's used since forever and something kind of citrus-ish; it's relaxing. He closes his eyes and nuzzles against her; his shoulders are bent crookedly but he doesn't care; he's fallen asleep in worse positions.

She shoves him up against the mirror; he blinks and yawns.

"You are not falling asleep on me right now."

"I'm tired."

"You're heavy."

"Dude, she just called you fat."

Seto turns to Hara. "Why the hell are you still here?"

"I'm deeply wounded, Seto. I thought I was always welcome with you."

Seto ignores him as Satsuki takes him by the hand and pulls him along. She's hiding her face from him; that means she's smiling—his intention wasn't to amuse her, though, so it shouldn't matter.

* * *

230\. Games (Nakatani Masaaki/Takao Kazunari) originally on twitter

Kazunari's vision gives him a vastly unfair advantage at any sort of card game, though he insists that's not why he likes them. Masaaki's terrible at cards anyway, so he suppose it doesn't make much of a difference—and even though Kazunari could choose not to use it, that doesn't mean it's cheating per se. It's always easier to indulge him because he never quits his begging, always knows how to wear Masaaki down eventually. It's hard to stay mad at him; he's offered to let Masaaki win before—but that would be worse than losing like this, and they both know it. (Despite his abilities, Kazunari has a terrible poker face and it's always fun to see the twitch of his lips when he's got a good hand—he really is too cute.)

* * *

231\. Acute (Himuro Tatsuya/Alexandra Garcia) originally on twitter

Alex feels Tatsuya's absence acutely; it's like shaving her legs with a razor that's not quite sharp enough, fingers pushing the blade down harshly against her skin and without her glasses she can't tell if she's pressing hard enough so she passes over the same spots over and over again and tries not to cut herself. Sometimes she accidentally jerks her arm the wrong way and hits the faucet and a blast of cold water hits her right in the chest (because like most things, her shower was built for people 5'8" or shorter) and she has to readjust everything and start over.

Tatsuya is her steadiness, her sharpness, her sight, her everything; he will not own up to most of this. It's easier to get him to admit it through the cell tower, from a roughly-estimated number of miles away, and when he misses her in the same kind of way (when he comes back there's always a tiny spot on his neck he's missed shaving; it's never in the same place).

* * *

232\. Less Real (Himuro Tatsuya/Alexandra Garcia) originally on twitter

Whenever he's away from Alex for too long, Tatsuya starts to feel less real. He's crumbling at the corners like a stale piece of bread; he's weightless, no longer solid, disjoint with the world. Her voice echoes in the corner of his mind until it distorts and that, too, is unreal; everything is a mirage like it's some sort of karmic retribution for the style of basketball he plays.

"I miss you," he says, lips closer to the receiver but no closer to her, and those words are trite and overworked and not nearly adequate.

But the way her voice breaks in response like a wave over him is enough; her undertow carries him back closer to reality. He's still flickering, though; he's never fully right until her arms encircle his waist and his face is buried in her neck and he feels solid and complete.

* * *

233\. Domestic (Imayoshi Shouichi/Harasawa Katsunori) originally on twitter

Shouichi cooks dinner in an apron with his hair tied back; Katsunori can't tell if he's just making fun of domesticity or if he actually enjoys it, and he's not sure which option he'd prefer to be closer to the truth. Sometimes he goes into the kitchen when Shouichi's making something, and Shouichi asks him if he wants a taste.

Shouichi tells him to open his mouth and he does, expecting a kiss but getting a piece of food instead. Katsunori glares at Shouichi, but Shouichi just smiles wider and returns to the stove. Sighing, Katsunori puts a hand on Shouichi's shoulder and kisses him before he moves away. Shouichi kisses back but then slaps him on the knuckles with a spoon anyway, and Katsunori wonders how the hell he can say so much about the so-called sanctity of cooking while keeping such a straight face. Eventually, he leaves.

"I'm too old for you to tease me like that," he mutters, even though he knows there's no way Shouichi's stopping any time soon.

* * *

234\. Fans (Kiyoshi Teppei/Hayama Kotarou)

They can't hear each other's voices with the fans on this high, but it's cool enough to touch each other so that makes up for it a bit. It's too warm to move too much, though, and Kotarou's frustrated, his fingers furiously tapping on Teppei's arm and on the floor and his mouth forming a perfect whiny pout. Teppei smooths Kotarou's hair back and Kotarou looks up at him, momentarily pausing the flickering gestures.

"I love you," Teppei mouths.

Kotarou blinks and then his face splits into a snaggletoothed grin and he kisses Teppei's neck and presses his sweaty body against Teppei's, yearning increasing exponentially and it might not be too hot for this either.

* * *

235\. Crumple (Aomine Daiki/Kise Ryouta)

His suit jacket is getting crumpled and wrinkled in this position, pressed against the wall and under Aomine's touch and normally he'd keep enough composure to yell about it or make some remark or discreetly discard the jacket but right now he doesn't give a shit. He's been playing these coy games with Aomine for too long and it's all boiled too far over and he can't say no anymore, not when Aomine's giving him that look like they're already fucking in his mind and Kise is jealous of the him in Aomine's mind because it's better than the him who exists and it's also occupying Aomine's mind and that's not okay. It has to be him, the real thing; he wants to fully possess Aomine, mind and body. His hands pull on Aomine's shirt; he craves proximity. He offers up his throat for Aomine to kiss and Aomine obliges, fisting one hand tighter in Kise's jacket and shoving the other one down the front of Kise's pants.

* * *

236\. Thighs (Shirogane Eiji/Akashi Seijuurou)

There is no sight more glorious than Seijuurou's thighs, flexed and spread, toned muscle contrasting sharply against Eiji's cream-colored sheets. Eiji presses two fingers to the inside of one; it hardly gives at all even as Seijuurou's hand curls ever-so-slightly against the sheets. Shit. He's so lovely like this, unraveling ever-so-slightly in a way he'd never let anyone else see, face buried in the pillows and trusting Eiji enough with his body. Eiji bends over and presses a kiss to the small of Seijuurou's back , leaning on Seijuurou's legs (he can't bend that far on his own anymore; his back just isn't up to it) and relishing in the heat from Seijuurou's body, of the close contact with the contours of Seijuurou's ass and legs and lower back against his collarbones and chest and jaw.

Seijuurou shifts; Eiji sits up.

"Well?"

Seijuurou's voice is half-amused, half-impatient—Eiji knows he always takes things slower than Seijuurou wants to, but Seijuurou's come to expect that by now (and if he really wanted to, he could take complete control of the situation and speed it up, but then again he'd probably view that as a concession of some sort that he'd rather not make). Eiji drags a hand down Seijuurou's side until he reaches his hip, grabbing at the way the bone protrudes slightly and turning Seijuurou onto his side. Seijuurou's body is flush against Eiji's; Eiji slips his hand between Seijuurou's legs and thumbs he inside again; Seijuurou lifts his upper leg and Eiji slides his cock into the warm space between the solid masses. Seijuurou flexes and Eiji gasps as his body spasms. God, this is amazing. The slight hum of contented laughter from Seijuurou is even more arousing somehow. Eiji fist Seijuurou's swollen cock and Seijuurou whines, squeezing his thighs together around Eiji. Eiji's shuddering breaths and hoarse moans join Seijuurou's voice in something that's not quite a perfect harmony but sounds perfect, anyway—everything, every sensation from the friction of the sheets against Eiji's leg to the smell of the sweat on Seijuurou's neck, mixed with his shampoo, is adding to the tension and heat within Eiji, bringing him closer to the edge.

* * *

237\. Shade (Araki Masako/Momoi Satsuki) originally on twitter

It's still cool in the shade; she's glad she thought better of peeling off her sweatshirt as she gathers it tighter around her shoulders. Masako barely twitches; she's used to Akita's quirks and for a second Satsuki wants to whine that it's just not fair. She'd read the weather reports, but nothing had warned her about this aspect, and now her teeth are chattering, which is ridiculous because it's the middle of April. She half-expects Masako to tell her to toughen up or that pouting doesn't become her, but she doesn't—and this is one of the things that Satsuki likes best about Masako, her unpredictability. (Masako's slim hand on her shoulder is more than enough to counter the shade.)

* * *

238\. Ears (Mibuchi Reo/Kagami Taiga)

Taiga's ears are wonderfully sensitive; Reo has to be careful not to overstimulate them but every time he starts it's so hard to stop, what with the wonderful noises Taiga's making and the way his toes and fingers curl and he squeezes his eyes shut and shivers just like that; he's almost like a little kitten, tempting Reo's fingers and lips and teeth again and again, clinging to Reo like he's drowning in sensation, taking irregular gasping breaths. Reo doesn't mean to tease so much, but Taiga makes it so easy.

* * *

239\. Weary (Murasakibara Atsushi/Akashi Seijuurou)

The world is tiring sometimes, but they have each other, offer warm bodies and kind thoughts as a brief reprieve. Atsushi puts his head on Seijuurou's lap and falls asleep and Seijuurou strokes his hair absently as he works; Atsushi wakes up later to pull Seijuurou down into his arms and force him to take a break of his own and Seijuurou could refuse but he decides not to, curling up into Atsushi's chest and smiling, drifting off briefly—he wakes up feeling refreshed and secure, smooths the hair off of Atsushi's forehead, and returns to work.

* * *

240\. Blossom (Sakurai Ryou/Momoi Satsuki)

Plum blossoms are Ryou's favorite flower; even if Satsuki didn't have her ways of finding out the little things about everyone (and especially him) it would be evident from his drawings, from the pages and pages of plum blossoms, from the way he smiles brighter sitting outside with a sketch pad under a tree in early spring. To some people that wouldn't matter, but to Satsuki it does—whether or not there's something meaningful behind it, it's a part of Ryou that's incredibly precious to her.

She sits under the tree with him, leaning against the trunk, and entwines his hand in hers. He takes in a sharp breath but then rubs her palm with his thumb and she sighs. He is incredibly precious to her.

* * *

241\. New (Nebuya Eikichi/Hara Kazuya)

Hara's never been with someone like Nebuya before, someone with a sharp mind and insatiable desires and so much motivation—it's not a bad thing, really, but it's odd to be with someone who cares so much but isn't really annoying about it. He's hotheaded and passionate (the sex is phenomenal) but he's not clingy. He lets Hara do his own thing while he does his, a tacit agreement between the two of them that works out well for both of them. And he's not opposed to making a goofy face when Hara takes a selfie of the two of them or bothering Hanamiya or just chilling together on the couch.

* * *

242\. Shelter (Ishida Hideki/Haizaki Shougo)

Shougo doesn't thank him for the towel or the change of clothes or for the shelter from the rain, for the warm coffee and hot soup. Ishida wasn't expecting him to, though; if anything it's a surprise that Shougo's accepting any of this at all.

He crawls into Ishida's bed at night, ignoring the spare futon and whispering things into Ishida's ear until he can't pretend to be asleep anymore. Even when he's given things, he still wants to take and take and suck Ishida dry, but after a while it starts to feel good and Ishida starts to take, too, bites on Shougo's lip and swallowing Shougo's words in his throat. Shougo falls asleep on top of him, and even in his sleep he's not beautiful but he's still utterly fascinating—Ishida falls asleep tracing the scars with his eyes.

* * *

243\. Highway (Nijimura Shuuzou/Aomine Daiki)

He's teaching Daiki how to drive, takes him out on the highway before he says he's ready and laughs at Daiki's terrified face and white knuckles because he's actually doing a better job than most of the drivers here and besides, 90% of the time he drives on it the highway will be backed up with traffic and worse than street driving.

Daiki tells him he's horrible, but Shuuzou shrugs and ruffles his hair and tells him there's no other way to learn to do it.

"When I'm a pro, I'm hiring my own chauffer," he mutters, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

It should be utterly not-cute but there's something endearing about it, so Shuuzou lets it pass and buys him lunch, and he wonders if he's finally going soft but then Daiki kisses him when he's leaning against the car, grabs his hands and presses their bodies together and he's such a lewd kid but damn. Shuuzou might let him get away with murder at this stage of the game.

* * *

244\. Motion (Susa Yoshinori/Imayoshi Shouichi)

The motion of Imayoshi's hand as he scratches down notes in that thin, messy scrawl of his is fascinating, captivating; there's more in that than Susa gets even from watching a pro basketball game on TV. It's probably just because it's Imayoshi, just because Imayoshi means so much, is such an unstoppable force in Susa's life, wreaking havoc as Susa either protests vehemently or throws up his hands (and either way, the result is the same).

It's like the motions in the steady roll of Imayoshi's hips against him, the way the heel of his hand skims over Susa's chest, the curve of the ball of his foot running up Susa's leg. He can never escape, barely has enough autonomy to respond to such things—and Imayoshi knows it, too; Susa senses it in the way he smiles and the way his hands curl around Susa's hips, and considering that it's Imayoshi this could be way worse.

* * *

245\. Jumped (Nijimura Shuuzou/Himuro Tatsuya) for anon

It was a damn good idea to keep an eye on Shuu despite his assurances that he would be fine—hometown or no, you can never be too sure of anything. Not that Tatsuya has enough time to even think this much; he's jumping in with fists and knife drawn, ready to cut this tiny redhead down. The redhead's strong and nimble, more dangerous than he has any right to be and it takes all of them just to chase him off, but they're loud enough to get him to run off.

Shuu doesn't look too bad; his cheeks swelling up and his knuckles scraped the pavement but other than that he's unscathed. Tatsuya's got a cut on his arm but it's shallow and the blood won't show if he pulls down his sleeve. He brushes his fingers over the red mark on Shuu's face and Shuu makes a half-whimper and flinches.

"That bad, huh?" Tatsuya says. "You're getting a nasty bruise."

"Don't I know it."

Tatsuya lifts up Shuu's hand, peering at his knuckles. Most of them have peeled skin and a bit of blood that's already dried; it's not too serious. It doesn't look like any gravel got inside or anything, though of course they'll have to clean it when they get home. They're hypnotic up close, though, the callouses on Shuu's palm in Tatsuya's grip and the lengths of Shuu's fingers, even curled like this—Tatsuya brushes his lips across the back of his hand.

"Oi!" Shuu sounds shocked but doesn't withdraw his hand.

He's blushing but looking down into Tatsuya's eyes squarely.

Tatsuya cocks his visible eyebrow. "Want more?"

Shuu flips his hand in Tatsuya's grasp and locks their fingers together. "Hell yeah."

Has he wanted this as long as Tatsuya has? It's impossible to say; Tatsuya will just ask later because his mouth is full of Shuu, swallowing words and moans and tongue, trailing kisses and licks and bites down his skin and Shuu leans against the wall, shadows and slivers of sunlight of the narrow alley sliding across his chest. Tatsuya takes Shuu's cock in his mouth and Shuu shivers; it's amazing, having this power over him—Shuu's injured hand is clenched in Tatsuya's hair and he's trembling. Tatsuya pauses, looks up, and meets Shuu's eyes again. That curl in Shuu's lip is still present, even as he's clamping it tightly shut to keep from making any sounds—god, he's perfect; this is even better than Tatsuya ever imagined it would be.

* * *

245\. Torturous Bliss (Hanamiya Makoto/Mibuchi Reo/Kiyoshi Teppei)

Makoto's voice is so beautiful that it's hard for Reo to concentrate on the words sometimes (he's aware that it probably makes him a terrible boyfriend, but it's not as if Makoto doesn't notice and use it to his advantage more often than not). He pauses, grins long enough for Reo to almost collect his thoughts, and then continues, damn him. Reo squints and leans forward, and then feels a good kind of pressure in his hair, the softness of the pads of Teppei's fingers against his scalp. Teppei continues to play with Reo's hair and Reo scowls; he can barely concentrate on the sound of Makoto's voice anymore.

He whips around; Teppei's smiling that same innocent smile he always does.

"That's sly," says Reo.

"I know," says Teppei. "But I've got your attention."

How he can say things like this so sweetly is absolutely maddening.

And then Reo feels Makoto's lips ghost over his ear and a pinch on his hip and they shouldn't both be allowed to do this at once. It's not fair; they're not fair.

"But you look so cute when you're distracted," says Makoto, kissing the underside of Reo's jaw.

Reo sighs.

"Like I'd say that," says Makoto, even as he curls his body tightly against Reo.

"You're beautiful," says Teppei, and his giant hands are back on Reo's scalp and this is torturous bliss.

* * *

246\. Feel Your Warmth (Alexandra Garcia/Himuro Tatsuya) for crossdressingkurapika

She eases down next to him on the bench and hands him a hot coffee from the vending machine; her breaths are released in visible puffs in the winter air. Two days into their Tokyo vacation and Tatsuya's already missing the balmy weather back home—Tokyo winters aren't as bad as Akita winters but they're bad enough; he's always preferred warmer weather (or maybe it's just that he's used to it). The coffee isn't very good, but he doesn't mind, really, not when the company more than makes up for it. Alex loops her arm through his and leans her head on his shoulder; they watch the joggers and bikers pass by in loops. It's nice to not have to talk, to sit and just revel in one another like this—it's more than nice; it's fantastic.

They do talk sometimes, of course, later when they're eating lunch in a tiny diner, quietly and half in English, half in Japanese. He reaches tentatively across the table for her hand and she gives it with a quick smile; her grip is warm. He kisses her outside in the light drizzle and she tastes of citrus; she draws their bodies close together and they don't breathe until they're both nearly asphyxiated; when they break apart her glasses are askew on her face and fogged up from the temperature change. He leads her through the streets back to their hotel and she lets him continue even when she can see through them again, and this time before they go in she kisses him long and deep and starving for more.

It's times like this when Tatsuya feels like the world is right, when he can feel her warmth through tightly clasped hands and lingering kisses. He traces down her arm with his fingers and curls into her chest; she laughs and kisses his ear and he smiles.

* * *

247\. Challenge (Mayuzumi Chihiro/Takao Kazunari/Mibuchi Reo) for anonymous

The poor kid, defeated and then cornered by Mibuchi—Mayuzumi wouldn't wish that on anyone, even the guy Akashi used as an excuse to bench him. Mibuchi's intimidating, strong, and way too overbearing, and Mayuzumi knows he's going to regret it but he steps in anyway.

"Cut him some slack, Mibuchi."

"Aww, don't ruin my fun, Mayuzumi-san."

"It's Mayuzumi-senpai." Will they ever start showing him the proper respect?

The kid blinks up at him and his nervous grin softens. He looks kind of like a cornered kitten—couldn't they have gotten cute kouhai like this at Rakuzan? He bows.

"Thanks for this, Mayuzumi-san, was it?"

On the other hand, he might just be annoying, too. Mayuzumi scowls. "Anyway, Hayama was looking for you, Mibuchi."

Mibuchi shrugs. "Kotarou can wait. Look, Mayuzumi-san, isn't he just the cutest thing?"

"Hey!" The kid crosses his arms and pouts.

"I don't know about cute, but he looks pretty disrespectful to me." Like you.

Mibuchi doesn't take the hint. "Wanna punish him?"

"What the fuck?"

"Language, Kazu-chan."

This would normally be way too pervy and weird for Mayuzumi to actually enjoy, but he's got so much pent-up energy from not playing so he exhales. At least this might get Mibuchi to briefly shut up afterwards and he'll probably be able to sleep on the bus back to the hotel.

"Yeah, okay," says Mayuzumi.

"Kneel," says Mibuchi.

The kid does it—and it looks like he's actually kind of enjoying this, which Mayuzumi supposes should make him more comfortable with the situation but it really doesn't. Are they really BDSM buddies or something? They're in a sweaty arena hall back between the locker room and boiler room, for fuck's sake.

"Are you going to unzip, Mayuzumi-san, or should I do it for you?"

"Shut the fuck up."

The kid takes them both in his mouth at once and it's actually mind-blowing, the friction between their cocks and the motion of the kid's tongue, and Mayuzumi might be able to get used to this.

* * *

248\. Sloppy (Nijimura Shuuzou/Miyaji Kiyoshi) for anonymous

It's not fair how tall his year-younger neighbor is, how he's always been better at karate and now he's better at basketball, how he's going to be the captain of his middle school team, how smoothly he dribbles and how quickly he steals the ball and darts around everyone else despite his size, how untouchable he seems already. Kiyoshi is transfixed by the sight, hates and loves playing against him at once; it's all too goddamn complicated even though Shuuzou is simple, fighting and basketball and heart in a perfect combination. (Did he just say perfect? What the fuck is wrong with him?)

They kiss sloppy and clumsy in the back alleys with the summer sunset curling against their necks, hands awkwardly dangling limp by their sides because they don't know what to do, bones digging into one another's flesh, hips and elbows too heavy, eyes half-closed and tongues lolling and gently prodding. Kiyoshi doesn't know if he likes it yet, only that he can't stop, won't stop, that he wants Shuuzou in a way that's too hard to describe but Shuuzou gets it anyway, waves off his explanations and kisses him again and it's getting better but he's still not ready to say he like it.

* * *

249\. Cake (Mibuchi Reo/Hara Kazuya) for anonymous

The minute he lets down his guard it's already too late. He glances away for a second and doesn't think, doesn't remember that this is Hanamiya's teammate, that he should probably watch out, and then the cake comes down on his head.

"Whoops," says Hara.

At least the cake isn't oven-fresh and hot, but it's dripping down Mibuchi's clean shirt and it's all over his face and arms and it's sickeningly sticky.

"Are you all right, Mibuchi-san?"

"All right?" Mibuchi says. "All right? You just dropped a cake on my head and ruined my new shirt! And my face is all sticky and disgusting right now, and you're asking if I'm all right?"

"Yeah, your shirt's all dirty; maybe you should take it off."

Mibuchi does not like that look on Hara's face one bit, the leering grin made even more creepy with his eyes hidden. Unfortunately, he's probably right about the shirt—leaving it on isn't going to make it any more salvageable.

Hara reaches over and starts undoing the buttons and draws in his breath. There's no way this is going to end well; Hara's fingertips skim over Mibuchi's bare chest and he grits his teeth. He lets the shirt slip from his shoulders and fall to the floor. Hara's hand lingers on Mibuchi's skin, tracing along his arm, and then he lowers his face to Mibuchi's wrist and licks at some of the cake.

Mibuchi tenses and jumps back. "Are you making fun of me?"

Hara steps closer again and licks his lips. "Me? I'm offended, Mibuchi-san. I just wanted to help you clean up a little bit."

And then his lips are on Mibuchi's cheek, softly sucking at the crushed pastry, and damn. He really knows how to use his tongue, and his fingers, too, tweaking Mibuchi's nipples and tracing the contours of his chest. Damn sneaky bastard. He could have just asked if he wanted this and then no one's shirt would have been ruined.

* * *

250\. Strong Captain (Kasamatsu Yukio/Mibuchi Reo) for anonymous

Reo's beautiful when he mopes, but Yukio will never give him the satisfaction of letting him know. He'll hold his hand in public, but he's made sure to let Reo know that it's just to make him feel better—this was a tough loss, after all. His college team is not nearly as good as his high school one was, and it's been a big adjustment. Still, he should be better about it by now.

"You're the ace; losses aren't your responsibility. I've told you this before."

"I know," says Reo, and the sorrow on his lips is so goddamn pretty that it's absolutely unfair.

He's worse than Kise was about this kind of shit, even without the whole being-Yukio's-boyfriend thing. He just won't let the issue slide.

Yukio stops short at the crosswalk and yanks Reo's head down and kisses him firmly. At least he'll be quiet for a bit when his tongue is occupied in Yukio's mouth. When they break, Yukio resumes looking stern.

"Cut that shit out, Reo."

Reo sighs and smiles; hell, he's more dazzling when he's happy than he is when he's sad and it's triply unfair.

* * *

251\. Short Fix (Nijimura Shuuzou/Takao Kazunari) for anonymous

He'd only come back to Tokyo to see his aunt, hadn't meant to go on the old routes and stop at his favorite stores, hadn't meant to go all the way to the courts and see his old team, most of his old kouhai still there—he'd recognize those rainbow kids anywhere, even without the uniforms, and there are tons of other schools, too, dressed in orange and brown and black and yellow and it's like some sort of technicolor wonderland. He's walking in those rainbow kids' direction, but he's not so sure—do they even remember him?

And he loses sight of them, decision made for him by some higher power (if you believe in that crap) when his elbow knocks against a kid, walking quickly in the opposite direction. He's about to yell when eh notices the kid's black eye and split lip and the panicked look on his face.

"Hey, you okay?"

The kid's about to give an affirmative when his face crumples—he can't even hide behind a fake-tough guise; it's got to be something serious.

Shuuzou grabs his arm. "Hey, come here. I'll help you clean up."

(-)

The kid had accepted his first-aid warily, but seems to be warming up to him a bit now that his lip is clean and he's got a cool soda can wrapped in his track jacket pressed to his eye.

"I was trying to congratulate the guys from Central…they beat us fair and square…but then the captain thought I was making fun of him, and he got me good before I could get away."

"Central's always been full of impulsive idiots," Shuuzou says.

"Where do you go to school, anyway?" says the kid. "Are you a high-schooler?"

"Yeah," he says. "Not here, though."

"Oh."

He looks pretty smart, this kid, and kind of cute, too—even with bruises, his eyes are bright and inquisitive and his smile is mysterious—not chilling like Tatsuya's, but interesting in a different way.

"Do I really look that bad?" the kid asks.

Shuuzou smiles. He's got to meet his aunt too damn soon, so he might as well take the opportunity. He presses a swift kiss to the kid's forehead and gets up.

"Take care," he says with a wave.

The kid smiles. "Come back sometime, okay?"

Shuuzou ponders the meaning and implications of those words far longer than he'd admit.

* * *

252\. Hard Work (Himuro Tatsuya/Takao Kazunari) for anonymous

Training with the Shutoku kids is interesting; they're all pretty diligent and extremely good at basketball, and it's easy to pick up tips from each other—the Shutoku kids learn more defense and the Yosen kids learn more offense; overall it's an excellent system.

Still, Himuro is used to being the last one out at practice, staying even after Atsushi—but when Atsushi leaves, a few of the Shutoku kids are always still there. Most of them leave soon after, but their point guard stays, running laps or taking shots or lifting weights. The company soon becomes surprisingly enjoyable—it's not like they talk much, not like they can when they're sweating their asses off on opposite sides of the room, and soon they start ending practices with a little one-on-one. Himuro's probably better overall, but Takao's surprisingly wily and a very quick learner. He's also plenty gorgeous and he knows it, too, not that Himuro's letting him know he knows.

Until he kisses him one night, sweaty palms and faces and all.

"Congratulations on your win."

Takao looks befuddled for just a second before he reaches up and closes the gap between their lips again, but that one second is very much worth it (and so is that second kiss).

* * *

253\. Skill (Takao Kazunari/GoM) for anonymous

He can handle a lot; he's good under pressure and keeps smiling (usually), but this—this is ridiculous. At least he's not the only one who's uncomfortable with this; Midorima was weirded out by the whole thing and said he wanted no part of it. It was actually funny to watch his face turn red and see him stalk off. Still, that left Takao alone in the room with five very dangerous individuals, none of whom he can count on for much of anything. They all start moving toward him at once, Momoi's hands on his shoulders and Murasakibara's (immensely large; they could encircle his hips by themselves) on his chest, Akashi's mouth on his and Aomine and Kise working his legs, Kise copying Aomine so well Takao can't tell whose mouth and hands are whose even with the hawk eye because he's getting so dizzy and disoriented.

"How do you like it, Kazunari?" Akashi whispers.

"It's…good; it's good," he says, somehow—it's as if someone else is speaking through him. "More, more, please."

God, he's so desperate but they're willing to give it to him and suddenly all the shame evaporates with the realization. He's here, and they're all focused on him; he's got five insanely hot and talented people who are devoted to him in this moment and he can have anything he wants, so he might as well let them know, squirming and wriggling and moaning and sighing in appreciation of particular strokes and touches and licks.

"Wonderful," says Akashi. "You're doing wonderfully."

Fuck yes.

* * *

254\. Completion (Himuro Tatsuya/Nijimura Shuuzou/Haizaki Shougo) for anonymous

The minute he sees him, Tatsuya knows this is the one, the guy Shuu's been thinking about since he left Tokyo. The flow of his step, the captivatingly erratic rhythm of his dribble, that curl of his lip that's half-reminiscent of the one Shuu wears nearly 24/7, it's all there. Shit, it's more than obvious why Shuu speaks of him the way he is; god is he gorgeous. Tatsuya whips out his phone and texts Shuu to come here to the street court right away, and then looks up in time to see him dunk the ball, watch him flex the muscles in his shoulders—oh. Tatsuya thanks his lucky stars he's wearing sunglasses.

Shuu shows up a few minutes later and Tatsuya tosses him a smirk. Shuu, too, is transfixed, and it's clear the distance of time and space have done nothing to quell his attraction. And it's clear from the widening of his eyes and the way he almost drops the ball when he catches sight of Shuu that Haizaki's exactly the same.

(-)

He's got so many scars that Tatsuya imagines he will never tire of tracing with his lips; he fits in between Tatsuya and Shuu like he was always there, and Tatsuya supposes he always was, the way Shuu always talked about him; his friction is rough and cracked and exactly what was missing from Tatsuya and Shuu alone; his mouth is slicker around Tatsuya's cock than anything and he almost makes him come just taking him and Shuu in at once; he dozes off afterward with his hand on Shuu's hip and Shuu fondly kisses his forehead and Tatsuya can't help but smile. This is perfect; they're perfect; Tatsuya leans forward and spoons Shougo from behind and he's asleep in less than ten seconds.

* * *

255\. Charade (Haizaki Shougo/Takao Kazunari) for anonymous

Kazunari pulls Shougo closer, yet again, and Shougo rolls his eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere, idiot. What kind of fucking issues do you have?"

Kazunari ignores him and cuddles up, pressing a kiss to Shougo's jaw.

"I'm watching the show," says Shougo.

"I know," says Kazunari. "But it wouldn't hurt you to just hug me, Shou-chan."

Shougo doesn't respond, flops back on the couch and shoves Kazunari to the other end.

Kazunari scoots back over and leans his head on Shougo's shoulder.

"Fine," Shougo grumbles. "Just this once."

It's a dumb charade, a reverse playing-hard-to-get of sorts, but it's part of their routine. And it takes less and less time for Shougo to give in each time, which is in itself a victory. He's a difficult guy, but Kazunari can handle him, and even putting that aside he's totally worth it. His hands curl around Kazunari's and Kazunari smiles way too wildly and resists kissing Shougo on the cheek—that might be too much for him.

* * *

256\. Game (Hayama Kotarou/Hara Kazuya) for eternalelysium

Hayama's fingers are always trying to lift up Hara's bangs to see his eyes like it's some sort of game or something when it's really the one thing that gets him truly annoyed. Hayama doesn't care and does it anyway, pouting when Hara holds him at arm's length and then giving up so he can cuddle up to Hara and fit in the crook of his shoulder. He makes up for it by taking a selfie of them together in front of the train station and at the skate park and posting it, and even though his hand is sweaty it's actually okay inside Hara's, and wherever Hayama drags him it's usually somewhere fun. (And he'd rather have Hayama's fingers entwined in his than pushing back at his bangs, quite frankly.)

* * *

257\. Stain (Hara Kazuya/Kiyoshi Teppei) for eternalelysium

Teppei buys him sweets, candies and chocolates and lollipops and never enough gum, never the right kind. Making passive-aggressive remarks about it isn't fun; teasing Teppei isn't fun because he never really catches on (and when he does he never lets Kazuya know). Still, he notices things, like how Kazuya likes grape lollipops the best, and holy shit does he notice when Kazuya licks the lollipop mock-seductively, swallowing it in to the bottom of the stick and taking it out, dripping with saliva. That way is easy to get him, easy to tease him every time—his tongue is stained purple and puckered from all the sugar, but Teppei doesn't care when it's around his cock, and he gives as much and as good as he gets, so Kazuya really can't complain.

* * *

258\. Teasing (Hara Kazuya/uncrowned kings) for eternalelysium

Reo and Kazuya each slip an arm through one of Makoto's and whisper his name in one ear; the effect is obvious and instantaneous and awesome. Makoto tenses and blushes and starts yelling; he's too cute and too predictable.

"You guys shouldn't tease him so much," says Eikichi, but even he's grinning.

"I'll stop teasing when he stops reacting like this," says Kazuya.

Eikichi shrugs.

Makoto huffs and slumps his shoulders; Kazuya kisses him on the cheek.

"Mako-chan's really cute when he's all red like this," says Kotarou—Captain Obvious as usual, but damn it if he's not getting Makoto more riled up.

"Kotarou's very cute, too," says Reo.

Of course, now that he's not the center of attention Makoto's even madder, but Kazuya leaves their arms linked and leans on his shoulder.

"Makoto's the cutest, though."

It would be fine if Teppei didn't take that moment to ruffle Makoto's hair, but he does—although Makoto at his worst is nothing they can't handle (and nothing they don't want, really).

* * *

259\. Only You (Hara Kazuya/Aida Riko) for rakuuchou

He likes to say her name, whisper it in her ear and half-sing it, dragging it out to get her to glare up at him. She's so tiny; he tells her so with a wicked grin; his hands dwarf hers and he makes sure to rub it in when they're playing video games and he can reach all the buttons at once (even when she wins, which is most of the time, she's still mad at him). Sometimes she says it's okay if he wants to kiss her, so he doesn't but then she kisses him anyway because she's so impatient and because she wants him—even with her stubborn exterior, that's evident.

"Riko," he says, leaning back farther on the couch.

She glances up from her book. "What?"

"Nothing."

She glares and her face flushes. "Then don't say my name."

"You're the one who responded."

"I thought you had something to say."

She looks back at her book, but he can tell she's not really reading.

"Hey, Riko."

She ignores him and turns the page.

"Riko, Riko, Riko…Riko…"

"What do you want?"

"Only you, babe."

He barely dodges the book thrown at his face.

* * *

260\. Pet (Akashi Seijuurou/Mibuchi Reo/Mayuzumi Chihiro) for anonymous

It's not fair that on the hottest week of the year Chihiro's stuck here while Seijuurou has a business trip up north. It would be nice if there was any kind of breeze at all or the ice cubes in his glass of water would stay frozen after he's taken two sips. The natural light beckons, though, and he's a fool but here he is, reading and smoking out on the patio.

The screen door creaks; without even looking Chihiro knows it's Reo. He's probably toeing the floor with one expensive pump and fiddling with his hair—he acts so timid sometimes; it's an odd contrast to his usual vivaciousness. Chihiro takes another drag on the cigarette and exhales. "Come here."

Reo trots over and kneels by Chihiro's feet, leaning against his legs. Chihiro places a hand in his soft hair and begins to stroke. Reo sighs softly and closes his eyes—he's always craved contact, and even though Chihiro's never been a very touchy-feely guy he can't help but fulfill Reo's desires. He lifts the book from his lap and puts it on the table and leaves the cigarette butt in the ashtray. He gestures to his lap.

Reo leaps up and into his arms; he's heavy but Chihiro's used to the weight. He tugs on Reo's shoes and takes them off, frowning at the callouses on Reo's feet.

"He's not here so you don't have to wear them."

"He'll find out," says Reo—he's right of course, but it's silly to keep them on for that reason. It's not like he ever escapes Seijuurou's little punishments, or like he doesn't enjoy them. Still, they're all keeping with the charade, aren't they?

Sweat is dripping down Reo's chest and settling at the edges of the lacy bra; even clad in only lingerie he's clearly not comfortable with the temperature. Chihiro presses a kiss to his jaw; Seijuurou really is too demanding of Reo—regardless of whether he agrees to do it or not, it's overkill (although at least this time he's not making him wear the collar).

Reo sighs. "But Sei-chan said—"

"I don't care what he said," says Chihiro. "He gets nice weather, so it's only fair to have a little bit of fun without him."

He curls a hand around Reo's hip and starts to play with the elastic on his panties; Reo whimpers and buries his face in Chihiro's shoulder. Chihiro's other hand rubs circles on his back and unhooks the bra. There are red marks from where it dug into Reo's upper back and shoulders; Chihiro kisses them.

"Come on; let's take a nice cool bath."

Without waiting for an answer, he pulls Reo up and takes him by the hand. He follows, bare feet light on the wood floors. Chihiro starts the water in the tub and eyes Reo critically. He's lonely again; Chihiro's going to talk about this with Seijuurou (and nothing will happen, of course; Seijuurou will smile patronizingly at him and wave him off as usual) because he can't fulfill Reo's needs by himself. Kneeling by the tub, he resumes stroking Reo's hair. The tub fills fairly quickly, and Reo removes what little he's still wearing but waits for Chihiro to finish stripping first. Chihiro's about to snap at him to just get in, but he silences himself preemptively, and then silently reprimands himself for coddling Reo. He's not completely fragile.

Chihiro gets in and Reo steps in next, sits between Chihiro's legs. Chihiro knows he's not Seijuurou, can't whisper dirty little things into Reo's ear and make him squirm and relish in it quite as much, and he doesn't really care for that kind of thing anyway.

But that's not necessarily what Reo wants or expects from him, is it? He leans into the delicate touch of Chihiro's fingers and closes his eyes, sighing in contentment like a happy cat. Spoiling him is its own reward, as it were; the more care Chihiro takes the more pleased Reo is and the more beautiful sounds he makes. They stay relaxed in the water long enough for their fingers to prune and for the water to grow uncomfortably lukewarm, but by this time Reo's pretty much done.

Chihiro puts him to bed in the air-conditioned bedroom; Seijuurou will be angry with both of them when he finds Reo in this bed but Chihiro just doesn't give a shit right now. Reo looks beautifully peaceful as his eyes flutter shut and he snuggles down. Chihiro sits down beside him and tucks Reo's hair behind his ear.

Seijuurou finds them like this when he comes home that evening; he dismisses Chihiro and says he'll deal with him later. The noise wakes up Reo and as Chihiro slips out of the room he catches the gleam in both of their eyes. Reo's well-rested; they'll be okay for the night; he'll slip back in later when Seijuurou's satisfied and Reo's a mess again and they'll welcome him back well enough. But now he ought to get back to his book.

* * *

261\. Semi-Sweet (Aomine Daiki/Midorima Shintarou) for huongyukapham

Aomine knows jack shit about music, especially the stuff Midorima likes, most of which sounds either boring or like battle music—but even he can tell Midorima's a good piano player. He can play fast and smooth and do a whole lot of other things that Aomine doesn't understand, but it sounds nice most of the time. There are some pieces he likes and others he doesn't, and he always lets Midorima know. Midorima makes a fuss about how he doesn't want or need Aomine's feedback but he plays the ones Aomine likes more and the ones he dislikes less, so he's really not fooling anyone.

Tonight, he's playing one of Aomine's favorites; he thinks Aomine's still half-asleep on the couch but he's really leaning on the wall behind Midorima, who's so absorbed in the music he hasn't noticed Aomine. His head is bent slightly, looking at the sheets of paper on the piano, and the lamps in front of him illuminate his silhouette nicely. The outlines of his shoulders and back muscles are evident through his t-shirt, and his beautiful hands and tapered fingers moving in a blur, the sounds flowing seamlessly. This has to be some kind of magic or something; there's no way it's real.

His fingers slow and then stop, pressing on the last chord. Aomine takes the opportunity to slide down next to him and sling an arm around his shoulders.

"Play that one again."

Midorima huffs and crosses his arms. "I can't play if you're on top of me like this."

Aomine kisses him on the cheek and pulls him closer. "If I let go, will you play it again?"

"Well," says Midorima, pale face coloring slightly. "I needed to fix a few wrong notes and some problems with the rhythm in the coda, anyway."

Aomine snorts—Midorima's utterly predictable. But he scoots over on the bench anyway and Midorima starts again. (Of course, this turns out to be a terrible fucking idea because Aomine can't keep his eyes off Midorima's mouth and the shadows on his neck and he's this close to just pouncing on Midorima right here.)

* * *

262\. Cafe (Hanamiya Makoto/Takao Kazunari/Mibuchi Reo)

"Ooh, what a nice café, Mako-chan. You really know how to pick the best date spots."

"This isn't a date," says Makoto.

It is a nice café, well-lit with beautiful wooden tables and an extensive coffee bar (Makoto likes his coffee the way he likes his chocolate, extra-bitter to the point of adding three shots of espresso to drip coffee. It's expensive, but he can afford it.) with tempting pastries. Makoto orders for Reo and somehow knows exactly what he wants, a mocha and a flaky croissant.

Makoto looks away and sips his coffee even as he plays footsie under the table with Reo. Reo slips one foot out of his loafer and begins to slide it up Makoto's leg; Makoto scowls but pointedly looks away.

Reo follows his gaze, even though it's probably toward nowhere, but he's actually gazing at some kid's computer. And that kid is Shutoku's Takao.

"Oh, Mako-chan, do you want Takao-kun to join us?"

Makoto glares at Reo and pinches his foot. Reo slides his foot up farther to massage Makoto's groin. Makoto blushes and then jerks backward, almost pushing over his chair in the process. The sudden movement attracts Takao's sharp eyes and Reo gives him a wave. Takao tilts his head and then smiles; Reo beckons at him. Makoto crosses his arms.

Takao shoves his computer in his backpack and walks over. "Mibuchi-san and Hanamiya-san, huh?"

"That's right, Sweetie, we're on a date."

"It's not a date."

Reo ignores him. "Mako-chan's having a bit of trouble loosening up and I was wondering if you could help us out?"

"What do you want me to do?"

Reo grins. "Well, you could whisper sweet nothings into his ear like I was doing, but that didn't work."

"Those weren't sweet nothings! We were talking about coffee."

"You could get under the table and help him out in…that area."

Takao shrugs and looks at Makoto.

"If we get kicked out, it's all your fault," Makoto says.

"It'll be yours if you moan too loudly," says Reo.

* * *

263\. Every Time the Same (Sanada/Kise Ryouta) for spreademboy

Sanada straddles Kise's hips, pushing him down onto the bed roughly; his elbow strains and he cries out.

"Shut up," says Sanada.

He should be concerned, as a coach, for the health of his players, shouldn't he? Then again, Kise's the weakest link, the least important, the one the other teams swarm on top of like bees, that Tsugawa guy especially—and then Sanada pushes him back farther.

"Don't think about other men, you little slut."

Every time it's the same; Sanada berates him and calls him names that should bounce off him like they do when they're thrown by tabloids or gossipy kids in the hallways, but when Sanada says it, teeth and glasses glinting in the light, it hurts like obsidian in his back, in his stomach; he almost feels sick. It means something coming from Sanada, coming from the man whose soft hands hold the clipboard firmly, whose back is firm and arched and muscular, who takes a few shots himself at the end of every practice, whose cheekbones are so sharp they could cut diamonds, whose voice is strong with a sweet timbre—he craves Sanada's attention, approval—even like this when Sanada's cock is pounding into him, when Sanada's nails scrape his back raw, when he can taste Sanada's sour mouth on his. And then Sanada whispers slut, whore, idiot, unnecessary, pretty little toy, and Kise can't stop the tears from pricking the back of his eyes.

Sanada finishes, pulls out, zips up his pants. Through eyes glazed with lust and tears, he sees Sanada leave without a backward glance. Again. Kise will see him at morning practice again, and the warm hand will meet the small of his back and Sanada will bark extra-loud orders at him, single him out and berate him again—Kise chokes on the sobs as he flops back down on the bed, body battling between misery and sleep.

* * *

264\. Voice (Mayuzumi Chihiro/fem!Mibuchi Reo) for anonymous

She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, and it is then that she hears it, the most beautiful voice she's ever heard.

"I've read this one already," he says and she whips around, hair falling free again.

Here, at the school library desk, is the moment she falls in love; she records it and saves it in her brain. That soft voice, belonging to an otherwise-ordinary guy, is captivating. She has to find out his name, his class, everything.

(-)

It's rather difficult to track him down; Rakuzan's not an especially big school but this Mayuzumi Chihiro knows how to hide. He's on the basketball team and spends his free time in the library reading light novels; he eats lunch on the roof.

She sits down next to him and he looks up—not a friendly look and he doesn't speak.

"It's a pleasant day," she offers.

"Is it?" he says.

That's all she gets out of him other than silence and a noncommittal hum or two; he's not there the next day and she's lost him again.

(-)

She bakes him a cake and finds him in his classroom just before lunch.

"Mayuzumi-senpai, I made you a cake."

"You again?"

He's remembered her! "I'll feed it to you if you want."

He scowls. "No."

(-)

By the end of the calendar year she's waited in the classroom to greet him each morning for a week; made him multiple kinds of bento boxes (none of which he has accepted); befriended a boy from the basketball club in her class, Nebuya, and had him act as her liaison; attended several basketball practices and every single game; spent hours in the library walking through the aisles and trying to find him; and hiked up her skirt, unbuttoned several buttons on her shirt, and walked past his classroom several times each day.

None of it has worked.

"Eikichi," she wails. "When will he like me?"

Nebuya shrugs. "Have you thought about playing hard to get or something?"

Mibuchi blinks. "He'll forget about me!"

"He'll never forget you," Nebuya mutters.

She's about to punch him in the face when he holds up a hand.

"Hear me out. He'll miss your attentions when they're gone. He doesn't have any friends and is always by himself; he doesn't even play in the matches much. You're probably the only person who talks to him."

"But what if he doesn't want people to talk to him?"

"You two wouldn't be very compatible then, would you?"

Mibuchi sniffs. "I'd prefer it if he did the talking, anyway. His voice is gorgeous."

"Um, okay," says Nebuya.

(-)

Mibuchi doesn't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing that Nebuya's idea worked. On the one hand, Mayuzumi Chihiro is kissing her right now after whispering something very sweet into her ear and her knees are buckling and she is going to fall. On the other hand, she's going to have to admit he was right. Still, it's a fair price to pay for this ridiculous high she's getting.

* * *

265\. Wounds (Mibuchi Reo/Nijimura Shuuzou) for anonymous

He's the elephant in the room, the strongest link between them; they are careful to never speak of him because it would open the doors to their regrets and they might all come tumbling out at once. They're not afraid of showing their dark sides to each other, but there's still a limit and there are still things they'd both like to keep private.

When Reo can't fall asleep because the pain is too great, when he's grinding his teeth waiting for the pills to kick in, they still don't speak of him, of the things he demanded that were too much for Reo's mind and body—Shuuzou wipes the sweat from his forehead and squeezes his hand and does not speak. When Shuuzou washes down the bitterness with too much liquor, they do not utter his name; Reo strokes his hear and whispers comforting words about how it's all going to be all right. They're obviously false but that doesn't stop Reo from trying to assure him, from trying to assure them both. This might destroy them, but it might not if they keep running.

* * *

266\. To Spite (Furuhashi Koujirou/Hyuuga Junpei) for anonymous

This is really disgusting, all of it, Furuhashi's hot breath on his cheek and his hand sliding up Hyuuga's thigh and his slimy words—the thought that Hyuuga could ever be attracted to a guy, let alone Furuhashi, is completely gross.

"You know," says Furuhashi, leaning in closer yet again. "If we fucked, Hanamiya would be mad."

"What?"

"Didn't you hear me? I said this bar's choice in music is terrible."

It's a blatant lie; Hyuuga doesn't know much about Furuhashi but he knows his lies when he sees them and strangely enough the offer sounds pretty good.

"Yeah, okay," says Hyuuga.

Furuashi's blank eyes bore into him; Hyuuga looks away.

Furuhashi's hand descends onto Hyuuga's thigh and pinches, crawling upward. Hyuuga's hand begins to shake and he gulps. Furuhashi continues to stare as his hand moves upward and Hyuuga's already sort of regretting this but he can't stop leaning into the touch and in a sick kind of way this feels fucking amazing.

* * *

267\. Comfort (Murasakibara Atsushi/Himuro Tatsuya) for anonymous

The shock set in a few hours ago and he's been running on automatic since then, sitting in Atsushi's lap, hand in his, trying to placate him with more candy or a pat on the knee and it's weak and lame and he's already proven his worthlessness as a brother so at least as a boyfriend he should do more than token gestures—he's a wreck himself but he's gotten good at shoving it aside; he cracked today and filled in the fissure and he will not let it happen again so soon. Atsushi needs him; he breathes and twists his body.

Atsushi's eyes are horrible to look at; Tatsuya takes Atsushi's face in his hand and strokes his cheek; Atsushi raises his hand as if to bat Tatsuya's hand away but then clenches his fist again and lets Tatsuya's lips meet his. Atsushi's breath hitches and his body relaxes slightly. Their mouths move and tongues touch and Atushi rests his hand on Tatsuya's hip; he starts thumbing the waistband of Tatsuya's pants and Tatsuya almost sobs in relief. Just this much feels incredibly good, incredibly relaxing; maybe he's fucked everything up but it's not completely beyond repair now.

They don't speak as they remove their clothes and increase skin-on-skin contact, occasionally sighing and moaning but remaining otherwise silent. Their fingers and mouths are careful and deliberate; Atsushi stretches Tatsuya out slowly unlike the usual way he rushes through and Tatsuya rides him deliberately, steadily increasing the pace. Their bodies are warm against each other and their fingers entwine; they finish and Tatsuya rests his head on Atsushi's massive chest and it's going to be okay. He lets out a breath; this was as much about comforting him as it was about comforting Atsushi. He's been selfish again, but as if hearing his thoughts Atsushi places a sloppy kiss on his forehead.

"Muro-chin shouldn't worry so much."

* * *

268\. Masochist (Nijimura Shuuzou/Haizaki Shougo/Kise Ryouta)

They're not serious; of course they're not serious. Kise feels like a fool; he hears Kasamatsu's voice in his head cajoling him for getting involved in other people's business and preemptively winces for a kick in the head but none comes.

Nijimura sighs. "I appreciate your concern, Kise, but we're fine."

"Damn model always making it about himself," Haizaki mutters.

"Oh? Don't you want it to be about me, Shougo-kun?"

Teasing Shougo is, at least, still rewarding. His face colors and he glares.

"You wish."

"You're the one who's wishing he could be with someone like me."

"Oi, are you insulting Shuu? Because if you are, I'll kick your ass you little pretty-boy bitch."

"Damn," says Nijimura. "I always remembered you as respecting your elders more."

Well, shit. Now he's done it; they're both glaring at him with feral glints in their eyes—he can match one of them on his own but both at once isn't an option.

(-)

He's getting rug burn on his knees from being on the carpet for so damn long; his mouth is straining from taking both of them at once and they've bent his neck back and bitten all over his chest but it's so satisfying somehow, being able to pleasure them both, and they've both more than pleasured him, too—even Shougo will shut up when his tongue is trailing lines down Kise's body and his teeth are sinking into Kise's neck. It's exhilarating somehow and it won't do to think too much about it, not when Shougo's spreading his legs and pushing him down again and Nijimura's shoving hi hands inside Kise's mouth.

* * *

269\. In the Park (Nijimura Shuuzou/Hanamiya Makoto) for anonymous

The court is empty but it's not a nice day; the sky threatens rain and it's cool. Shuuzou's sweating anyway from the strenuous workout; even playing basketball by himself is enough to really get him going. He pauses; he's thirsty—he jogs over to the side of the court where his water bottle leans against the fence. There's someone on the other side watching; he looks up and frowns. He knows this face; he can't place it of course, but it's definitely familiar. He'd definitely remember weird eyebrows like that after seeing them.

"Hello," he says.

"Hello, Nijimura-kun."

His grin is sinister, but not like Tatsuya's; it's almost sickening.

"Hanamiya. It's been a while."

That guy was always reckless and weird shit happened around him; he'd played against Hanamiya twice and it felt like twice too many times, both draining and stressful. Shuuzou rolls the ball on his arm and drops it, dribbling between his legs. If he starts playing again, Hanamiya might go away—but he's no coward; he picks up the ball and holds it under his arm.

Hanamiya arches an eyebrow (how can he do that when they're so thick?) and his hand curls tighter through the links in the fence.

"I see you've kept up…physically."

Shuuzou glances down; Hanamiya laughs.

"Idiot, what did you think I was saying?"

"Sounded to me like you were trying to pick me up," says Shuuzou, meeting Hanamiya's eyes squarely.

Hanamiya licks his lips. It's not an affirmative but it's pretty damn close. Shuuzou shoves his lips through the links and kisses Hanamiya roughly; he tastes of bitterness and slice and he bites Shuuzou's lip sharply enough for Shuuzou to draw back.

The men's public bathroom is unoccupied; Shuuzou pins Hanamiya against the creaky metal stall door, crouches down and takes him in his mouth; he's already hot and wet and hard and his fisted hands pressing down against Shuuzou's skull will probably give him a migraine later but he just doesn't give a shit because he's had much worse and Hanamiya trembles like an old cellphone set on vibrate that's about to fall off the coffee table, whole body shaking against Shuuzou.

Hanamiya swears at him as he leaves afterward, but Shuuzou pays him no mind. He's already associated too much with that guy for his own good.

* * *

270\. Doors (Wakamatsu Kousuke/Momoi Satsuki)

Satsuki carefully constructs multiple facades, hides the doors where they can't be seen easily and is stingy with the keys. Daiki's gotten himself locked within a deeper circle; Imayoshi snuck part of the way in but never got that far; Kise had asked too nicely for the keys for her to refuse; she'd offered almost all of the keys to Tetsu but he'd refused them every time.

And then Kousuke had leaped over all of the walls at once. He still hasn't realized it; it's possible he didn't see them at all and it's possible her subconscious had gotten the better of her and slyly handed him the keys and a map. It's not a bad thing; he's everything she's ever wanted in a lover and in a best friend, too short-tempered but insanely loyal and actually quite intelligent. He loves basketball the way she does, needs to be around the game in some capacity, playing or coaching or watching or doing something, anything. They can talk about this for hours or let it lie between them quietly like a basketball would, the way a basketball does when they're on the bus back from the park where he practices and she analyzes his game, leaning against one another and smiling.

And he will guard the doors to her walls the way he guards the hoop, batting back opposing players with a scowl and a shout; he will fight to the last for her and some days she wonders how she got so lucky.


	6. June

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> contains material published June 2014

271\. Secure (Mayuzumi Chihiro/Mibuchi Reo/Nijimura Shuuzou) for anon

"They won't stop whispering," Chihiro grumbles. "Honestly, you guys might be overdoing it a bit."

"You said you wanted to be noticed," Reo says with an elegant shrug.

"And I regret ever thinking that."

Reo lets out a breath and scoots away from Chihiro, tracing the rim of his coffee cup with one finger. He stares downward, easily forgetting his surroundings other than the worn wood of the table until a warm hand covers his and he almost jumps.

Shuuzou's arm is reaching across Chihiro's body, elbow grinding against Chihiro's chest.

"Chihiro's very sorry for upsetting you," Shuuzou says, tugging on his hand.

Reo can't help but smile and a laugh bubbles up and escapes his lips. Chihiro's scowling even harder now, although it's not as if a dark look or two would ever deter Shuuzou from getting anywhere.

Reo moves back over and entwines his hand with Shuuzou's. Their hands fall on Chihiro's lap and he leans back and sighs. His foot brushes against Reo's ankle, once, twice; this is the best apology Reo's getting. It's true Chihiro prefers subtlety to blatant showing off, but why shouldn't Reo show off Chihiro and Shuuzou? Reo drops Shuuzou's hand and skims a few fingers up Chihiro's thigh.

"How's that?"

"Acceptable," says Chihiro.

Shuuzou hits him on the back of the head.

"Acceptable, my ass. He's ungrateful, Reo, so you should touch me instead."

Reo rolls his eyes. They're too much, really.

* * *

272\. Masochism Struggle (Akashi Seijuurou/Mibuchi Reo) for anon

Maybe he had been too friendly with the waitress at the restaurant, but honestly if you want good service you have to be nice to the wait staff. And it's not as if Reo would have much of an ulterior motive with any woman anyway, but…Seijuurou will take anything as an excuse to tie him up and berate him, and it's been too long since they last did it because Reo's already too damn hard just lying on the bed with his arms and legs securely fastened, staring up at Seijuurou's face, twisted into a smirk as he straddles Reo's hips and teases fingers at his entrance. Reo tries to whine against the gag but it comes out as something muffled; Seijuurou glares and traces a circle around one of Reo's nipples.

"Silence."

Reo half-whimpers; the gag captures all of it; Seijuurou's fingers are erratic and wonderful—he loves the feeling of being a slave to Seijuurou's whim, the thrill that comes with a loss of control, the same way Seijuurou gets high off the absolute control of both himself and Reo, the pure dominance of the situation.

Seijuurou pauses to take out the lube and drip some on his fingers. He has no intention of acting like a drama queen and pouring it all over the two of them, but he's very deliberate and sure—Reo's trying to stop himself from bucking his hips up into the air (which would no doubt displease Seijuurou and make this last even longer) but it's so hard when he can just begin to imagine Seijuurou's fingers inside him. Their eyes remain locked; Seijuurou slides one slick finger up Reo's cock, tip to hilt, then traces over his balls, and Reo's eyes flutter but do not fall shut and he can feel the drool dripping from his mouth.

"You belong to me, and me alone," says Seijuurou.

Reo nods.

Seijuurou's index finger plunges into him; the sensation is familiar and not nearly enough; he wants more, wriggling against his restraints and clenching around Seijuurou.

"Patience, Reo."

Reo glares. Seijuurou raises an eyebrow and withdraws his hand. Then without warning, he puts two inside, scissoring and curling the fingers and brushing against (but never quite hitting) Reo's sweet spot; it's killing him to not be able to make a sound.

Finally, Seijuurou climbs off of Reo and loosens the bonds on his legs enough to spread them so he can position himself between them. He looks ethereal almost, the sheen of sweat on his crown like a halo and Reo's legs are throwing his shoulders into shadow—it's like some kind of old-fashioned painting; it suits him.

Reo's thoughts divert from art again when Seijuurou's cock pokes at his entrance and he slides in slowly, too slowly (Reo wonders how he can stand it). He rocks his hips, once, twice, and then pulls back and slams into Reo. Reo convulses, tries to meet the stroke with one of his own, and then Seijuurou puts one hand on his thigh and the other, still slippery with lube, on his cock and gently traces up and down. Seijuurou fills him up just right, rolls his hips and moves in him perfectly. Reo can feel it building up inside of him; he's not going to be able to hold on much longer. Seijuurou won't make him wait this time; sometimes he likes to watch Reo come and it turns him on even further—like now; he increases pace and Roe can't help but screw his eyes shut and try to scream Seijuurou's name against the gag; Seijuurou doesn't slow; he rams harder and faster into Reo and as he comes down he's numbly aware of Seijuurou releasing inside of him and pulling out, sliding up his chest.

When he feels pressure on his jaw, he opens his eyes to see the top of Seijuurou's head. He loosens and removes the gag, tossing it aside and kissing Reo briefly.

"Well?" says Seijuurou.

"I'm yours," Reo says.

His throat is dry; his voice is hoarse; Seijuurou finds it acceptable anyway. He kisses Reo's mouth again and smiles into the kiss—Reo can't help but smile back.

* * *

273\. Foreign (Aomine Daiki/Kagami Taiga)

There's nothing as foreign to Aomine about this country as the beaches, the way the sand feels under his toes and the heat of the sun on his skin and the feel of the water—there's something distinctively different about it all; he can't quite place his finger on it but it's dumb to think about that kind of thing too much.

The beach makes him feel lazier than usual and going in the water even more so—he wants to dry off in the sun almost immediately, grab Kagami and pull him closer to offset the coldness of the ocean and just stay here forever, make this moment last in eternal summer.

* * *

274\. Interrupt (Kasamatsu Yuki/Mibuchi Reo/Hayama Kotarou) for anon

Yukio has a knack for coming in at the most inopportune times; Reo's trying to buy his present and plan the joint party for him and Kotarou and he can't let Yukio see what's on the computer but he can't act suspicious. It's a delicate balancing act, and one he still hasn't mastered despite his knack for the delicate. But perhaps it's not so bad when Yukio sits next to him and he opens up a new tab and they read the news headlines and chat together, and Yukio allows Reo to pull him closer than usual and strokes the nape of his neck.

Kotarou, on the other hand, is just plain nosy. He's always looking over Reo's shoulder, much to his chagrin, and then laments the way Reo is hiding things from him and yells loudly enough to wake the dead and then Yukio gets mad at Reo, too. It's a terrible situation, one that Reo can only manage to avoid by only planning for Kotarou when he's out of the house. But it also means that when they're together he has more time for Kotarou, lying together in bed and watching TV or baking cookies (Kotarou looks irresistible with batter on his face, and Reo isn't sure if he's doing it on purpose or not).

And when they interrupt him together, it's absolutely perfect, one of them on either side, Kotarou chattering away and Yukio smiling gently at his enthusiasm. Maybe he'll just hire a party planner or something.

* * *

275\. Bet (Iwamura Tsutomu/Kasuga Ryuuhei) for anon

Yukio has a knack for coming in at the most inopportune times; Reo's trying to buy his present and plan the joint party for him and Kotarou and he can't let Yukio see what's on the computer but he can't act suspicious. It's a delicate balancing act, and one he still hasn't mastered despite his knack for the delicate. But perhaps it's not so bad when Yukio sits next to him and he opens up a new tab and they read the news headlines and chat together, and Yukio allows Reo to pull him closer than usual and strokes the nape of his neck.

Kotarou, on the other hand, is just plain nosy. He's always looking over Reo's shoulder, much to his chagrin, and then laments the way Reo is hiding things from him and yells loudly enough to wake the dead and then Yukio gets mad at Reo, too. It's a terrible situation, one that Reo can only manage to avoid by only planning for Kotarou when he's out of the house. But it also means that when they're together he has more time for Kotarou, lying together in bed and watching TV or baking cookies (Kotarou looks irresistible with batter on his face, and Reo isn't sure if he's doing it on purpose or not).

And when they interrupt him together, it's absolutely perfect, one of them on either side, Kotarou chattering away and Yukio smiling gently at his enthusiasm. Maybe he'll just hire a party planner or something.

* * *

276\. Birthday Gift (Imayoshi Shouichi/Mibuchi Reo/Hanamiya Makoto) for anon

Shouichi's a pretty light sleeper, so when he feels fingers at his hipbones his eyes snap open and he looks down in half-amusement, half-bewilderment. Reo and Makoto are tugging gently at his pajama bottoms, clearly trying not to wake him. Dutifully, Shouichi closes his eyes again as Makoto and Reo continue to tug them down. It's hard not to twitch violently when their fingers are scrabbling against his thighs and it's even harder not to laugh at the things Makoto and Reo are hissing at each other—even on their best days they don't get along well, and it's clear that they're this close to abandoning their efforts. It's actually very flattering to hear them tell each other that they're only doing it for him—whatever (and there are a few things Shouichi can think of) this is.

When his pants are at his knees, Makoto and Reo finally lift their fingers and turn their attention to Shouichi's half-hard cock, both licking down the side from hilt to tip. It's pointless to fake sleep any longer; Shouichi sighs and smiles, fisting his hands through soft black hair.

"Happy birthday," says Reo.

What a nice present this is—Shouichi will wait until later to give them the satisfaction, though; right now he'll just enjoy their tongues and lips and the view of their heads bobbing up and down.

* * *

277\. Restricted (Imayoshi Shouichi/Sakurai Ryou) for anon

Ryou whimpers at the smack of Imayoshi's hand on his rear, yet again.

"I—"

This time he stops himself from completing the sentence.

"Good," Imayoshi whispers, voice silky-smooth in Ryou's ear. "Now up with you."

Ryou sits up on his lap; Imayoshi pushes him off and up. Ryou pulls up his pants, face burning—even though they're alone it's hard to face him like this. It's weird how even when they're alone Imayoshi can make him feel so utterly humiliated. The apologies are threatening to spill from his lips to try and make up for anything, to sound and drown out his nervousness, as a coping mechanism, especially when Imayoshi forbids him from saying them. It's like he's drowning in a deep pool and he's reaching the surface but is not allowed to take a breath. He shudders.

"Turn around, Ryou."

Ryou complies, head hanging down and looking at his feet—with a start, too late, he sees the very obvious bulge in his jeans. It's even more hopeless that he's somehow turned on by each smack of Imayoshi's hand across his ass, how part of him craves the attention and presses him harder to apologize.

"Oh? You're aroused?"

Ryou peeks up at Imayoshi's face, placid and unamused.

"Let's see—"

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Please, please, I'm sorry!" he squeaks out, unable to hold back any longer.

Imayoshi clicks his tongue. "That's one for the arousal, one for not looking me in the eye, and…how many apologies was that?"

"I don't know, I'm s…"

"One for losing count, three for the apologies, and one for being unable to stop yourself again. How many is that?"

"Seven, sir."

Imayoshi smiles. "Good. Now come here."

Ryou obeys again, lets Imayoshi pull down his pants and shove him on his lap. The smacks are delivered hard, and he cries out. Tears well up in his eyes; he hates himself for being a coward; he can't push himself much farther—Imayoshi stops.

"Good boy," says Imayoshi.

He turns Ryou around and passes his thumb over the inside of Ryou's thigh; Ryou gasps.

"I reckon you've earned a reward for taking your last punishment well."

He sits Ryou up on his lap and kisses his tear-stained cheeks; Ryou winces at the pain on his sore rear—this won't come completely comfortably, of course, but his cock is twitching and Imayoshi's hands are wandering and the pain mixes very well with all of this.

* * *

278\. A Bruise (Imayoshi Shouichi/Hanamiya Makoto) for anon

He shouldn't be surprised to find Shouichi waiting for him like this, arms crossed outside the locker room.

"You're hurt," he says.

Makoto rolls his eyes. "Please, Shouichi, I'm fine; you're worrying too much—"

The last syllable dies away into a hiss as Shouichi presses the tender part of the inside of his wrist.

"You need to take it easy. See a doctor."

"It's just a bruise."

"I don't care."

"Then why are you here?"

Shouichi sighs. "Makoto, please. I care about you and you're being difficult. I don't want you to get seriously injured."

It's disconcerting for Shouichi to be this straightforward; Makoto can feel his face heating up; this is completely unfair and inappropriate.

Shouichi presses a kiss to his forehead. "I'm hurt that you'd underestimate my powers of observation, Makoto."

"You're just a creepy, paying so much attention to me."

"Why shouldn't I? I can't take my eyes off of you."

"Stupid Shouichi," Makoto mutters, pushing him away with his good arm. "Don't you have college stuff?"

Shouichi smiles. "Nothing is as important as my cutest kouhai."

"Stop."

"Okay, bye," Shouichi says and starts to walk off.

"No, come back! I didn't mean it!" Makoto calls.

Shouichi turns.

"Like I'd say that, Dumbass."

Shouichi turns around again—at least this way Makoto can have a long, uninterrupted look at his ass.

* * *

279\. Missed the Train (Imayoshi Shouichi, Kasamatsu Yukio)

He can make the last train right now if he runs, but he just doesn't feel like it right now—even if he'd catch up with the others, it's not worth it. Kasamatsu notices the glance to his wrist and raises an eyebrow.

"Are you going to make your train?"

"It doesn't seem like it," says Imayoshi. "It's just because of the good company, I reckon."

"Oi," says Kasamatsu, cheeks flaring. "It's your responsibility to keep watch. The others from Tokyo didn't have a problem."

"They were just jealous that I got you all to myself."

Kasamatsu flushes redder. He's so easy to tease. "What's with saying weird stuff like that?"

Imayoshi shrugs. "Stuff like what?"

Kasamatsu glares. "Anyway, how are you planning to get home?"

"I might jack someone's car."

"You're kidding."

"Maybe."

"Well, stay at my place! My parents are away, so it won't be a problem with them or anything…"

"Oh, my, that's bold of you."

Kasamatsu slaps his arm. "Shut it!"

Imayoshi hums.

"I'll see you off on the early train to Tokyo in the morning after breakfast."

"Oh, I'll get to taste some of Yuki-chan's home cooking?"

"Hey! What's with the Yuki-chan?"

Imayoshi grins. "You're cute; I can't help myself, you know."

"Stop saying things like this. You're only allowed to stay at my place because you actually would jack a car."

He's half-smiling, anyway.

* * *

280\. Gangbang (Rakuzan team/Mibuchi Reo) for anon

It hurts; it really hurts; the pain should block out everything but somehow it's being overriden by the pleasure of his body being stretched and impaled, of Seijuurou and Chihiro both fitting inside of him, the way Kotarou and Eikichi fill his mouth and tug on his hair. He's being pushed and pulled and twisted but somehow it hits all his sweet spots; he's gasping for pleasure and the pain only fuels him more. He should be tired and spent but the adrenaline is sustaining him, the ugly words pouring from Chihiro's mouth breathing life into him. This is sick, but it's so worth it because he's never felt this way before.

* * *

281\. Legal (Imayoshi Shouichi/Nakatani Masaaki) for anon

Shouichi's too quick for his own good; he's already showered and changed and Masaaki's still reviewing plays outside the locker room.

"Happy birthday, Darling," Shouichi says, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Masaaki presses firmly on his chest, pushing him away. "Do you know where we are?"

Shouichi shrugs. "I'm legal now, you know. I reckon it should be fine."

Shouichi's too smart for shit like this; he knows that a birthday makes no difference in how their relationship is perceived—they've done things before now, certainly, and there will always be a thirty-year age gap between them, and Masaaki's a coach and Shouichi is a player (even if he doesn't play for Shutoku, he's still a high school basketball player).

"It's my birthday, too; did you forget?"

Masaaki sighs. "Can't it wait?"

Shouichi mock-pouts; it's not cute on him at all.

"Fine, but this is against my better judgment," says Masaaki.

"Ooh, Darling, you always say the sweetest things."

Masaaki leans down and captures Shouichi's lips in his; it's meant to be fleeting but Shouichi grabs his tie and pulls him closer, tongue entering Masaki's mouth and trailing over his teeth and damn. It's been too long.

They're interrupted by the creak of one of the locker room doors; Masaaki swiftly turns—it's Takao; there go their chances of not being found out. His eyes are practically bugging out.

"I, ah.." Masaaki starts.

"What are you going to do?" says Shouichi, lips curling into a half-sneer.

"I wasn't planning on doing anything," says Takao.

"That's good," says Shouichi. "I reckon bad things might happen if you did."

Masaaki places a hand on Shouichi's shoulder; as much as he does not want to be found out he doesn't want any of his students threatened, either.

"Yes, Darling?"

"I wish you wouldn't call me that."

Takao slams the door behind him.

"Where were we?" says Shouichi, turning back to Masaaki and running his hands up his chest—damn, that feels good but this is not the time.

"Later," says Masaaki. "You know where to find the spare key."

* * *

282\. Goosebumps (Imayoshi Shouichi/Kise Ryouta) for anon

Kise's beauty is dangerous; he turns heads on the street wherever they go and it's hard for Imayoshi to keep a hold on him. He's capricious and his beauty only fuels it; he's beautiful enough to forgive for his whims and for him to be in high demand.

Of course, that's not the real problem with a beauty like that—it hits Imayoshi hard enough sometimes how gorgeous Kise is that he gets goosebumps on his thighs, the curve of Kise's lips and the softness of his hair and the definition of his shoulder and the way he carries himself because he knows just how gorgeous he is. His confidence lets him whisper in Imayoshi's ear sweet things when he should be intimidated, and his beauty is enough for Imayoshi to be a fraction of a second late with his comeback. It's horribly unfair, but then again pretty much everything is. At least, in the end, Kise's his for the time being.

* * *

283\. The One Day (Imayoshi Shouichi/Hanamiya Makoto) for unlikehisname

Makoto has been surprisingly docile today, once or twice muttering something under his breath that Shouichi chooses not to hear, but even those are tamer than his usual.

"This is actually quite a nice birthday present, Makoto. I'm touched."

Makoto opens his mouth, face aflame, and then shuts it.

"Oh, did you want a kiss?"

Shouichi leans in and presses his lips to Makoto's, slipping his tongue into Makoto's mouth. Makoto bites his tongue, but lightly—still, Shouichi can't push him too far, otherwise it won't be fun for either of them. He runs his tongue across the top row of Makoto's teeth and then the inside of his mouth, cupping Makoto's cheek in his. Makoto sighs softly; if he likes it then why doesn't he do this more often? Why must he be so difficult?

Shouichi releases his mouth, running his thumb across Makoto's slightly swollen bottom lip. Makoto's eyebrows are creased; he looks extra-cute like this.

"You're adorable."

"I won't let you do this tomorrow."

"I know," says Shouichi. "That's why I'm making the most of it now."

Makoto squawks as Shouichi captures his lips again and pulls him onto his lap.

* * *

284\. Nerves (Imayoshi Shouichi/Takao Kazunari) for anon

Takao's overthinking this; Takao overthinks everything when it comes to Imayoshi—he's used to making people nervous, but Takao's talked his way out of trouble with his teachers and cheerfully ignored Midorima's rebuttals when he extends the hand of friendship too many times for him to have a legitimate excuse for this. Imayoshi supposes he should be flattered, but it's more of an inconvenience at this point, especially since he's expressed interest in return.

Takao's hands are slightly shaking as he places the coffee on the table; he took a seemingly correct guess on Imayoshi's order. He takes a sip; it's good—black with just the right amount of sugar. Takao's trying to gauge his reaction; he can't tell. Imayoshi smiles.

"Is it good?"

"Yes," Imayoshi says.

He reaches over to cover Takao's hand with his; Takao intertwines their fingers. Imayoshi hums.

"You don't have to be so nervous; I don't bite."

"I know," says Takao.

"Unless you want me to."

Takao bites back a laugh. Imayoshi's grin widens.

"Disgusting."

"You're the one who suggested it."

Imayoshi shrugs. "I didn't hear anything."

"Let me test that, then," says Takao.

His kiss is like the coffee, surprisingly bold and just a bit sweet.

* * *

285\. Birthday Surprises (Nakatani Masaaki/Aida Kagetora) for anon

Tora checks his watch; the time should be right. While it's sweet that the Shutoku team is having a birthday party (or something of that sort) for its coach, it's also kind of annoying that it's cutting into his quality alone time with Masaaki, rare as it is to start with. It's not that he doesn't know Masaaki has other friends, but that's not the point. Today was going to be their day to celebrate together (if that's quite the right word—Masaaki would prefer to ignore getting older as long as he can).

He knocks on the gym door; it opens—he knows this kid, but he's not from Masaaki's team. He looks kind of like a fox with glasses; perhaps this is some kind of trap. He shuts the door behind Tora; the lights are dim but Masaaki's standing a few feet away. He smiles at Tora and is about to greet him when the lights turn all the way up and a bunch of kids come pouring out from under the bleachers.

"Surprise!"

Both the fox-boy and Masaaki try their best to look shocked; Tora rolls his eyes and makes his way over.

"So, Birthday Boy, how does it feel?"

"Ha ha," says Masaaki. "You're really funny."

"Aw, Ma-bo, you've always had a great sense of humor."

There don't seem to be any other of their friends here, not even Genta or Katsunori. The kids are all setting up tables with food and mixing with each other; some of them are coming up to Masaaki and they seize the lull in conversation to start giving him well-wishes.

Tora sighs; his hand inches its way to the small of Masaaki's back and Masaaki gives him that look he always does but he can't for too long because another student is talking to him. Tora grins, hand creeping even farther downward until it reaches the curve of Masaaki's ass. Masaaki deftly reaches back and pinches his wrist; Tora pulls it back to the front and strokes it gingerly.

"They probably know, anyway. Why else would they invite me and none of your other friends?"

"Because they don't know how to contact them? Your gym is well-known."

"Aren't some of those kids from Katchan's team?"

"I doubt they know we're friends."

"And then how is it they know about us, then?"

Masaaki sighs.

"Well, then, you want to sneak off? Let the kids be kids and spike the punch bowl?"

"If my gym gets dirty…"

"They'll clean up. I'll let you guys come to the complex tomorrow if it is."

"It's too far."

"Spoilsport."

Masaaki takes Tora's hand in his, runs his thumb across the back of Tora's knuckles.

"So are we leaving?" Tora asks hopefully.

"Yes, Tora, we're leaving."

The night is warm but Tora leans in anyway. Masaaki lets him, kisses him in the parking lot for longer than is necessary or is good for either of their lungs.

* * *

286\. Stood Up (Imayoshi Shouichi/Nijimura Shuuzou) for anon

"Hey, you look lonely."

"That so?" Imayoshi raises an eyebrow and takes another drag on his cigarette.

"Yeah."

This person is surprisingly blunt; how interesting. He's not bad-looking, either, come to think of it, actually better looking than that guy from the dating site. Perhaps this might be a good opportunity.

He takes out a cigarette of his own and sticks it in his mouth; Imayoshi leans over and lights it with his own.

"Thanks."

"You got a name?"

"Yeah. I'm Nijimura. You?"

"Imayoshi."

They stand in silence, staring out at the side street. Imayoshi drops the butt of his cigarette and grinds the ember out with the heel of his shoe.

"So, Imayoshi, are you lonely?"

Imayoshi laughs at his directness. "Not particular, now that I've found myself in pleasant company."

(-)

They end up at Imayoshi's place, clothing scattered on the floor and kisses scattered to skin. Nijimura's mouth is good for more than talking and his large hands are adept. It's good; it's great; it might be a bit reckless to say it's the best Imayoshi's ever had but it's definitely near the top.

(-)

He wakes up to nothing, a silent apartment, his own clothes still on the floor but nothing else. He pads out to the living room; it couldn't have been a dream.

It wasn't. On the table is a note with a phone number and a promise to do this again some time.

Imayoshi smiles. Not bad at all.

* * *

287\. Unbreakable (Hanamiya Makoto/Mibuchi Reo) for anon

Makoto snaps like a high-tension wire, dangling a heavy load that spins until the forces tear it apart and he explodes on Reo; his fingernails are claws and his teeth are fangs and his elbows are clubs; the pain is overwhelming and the blood in Reo's mouth is deliciously salty; he needs more of it, more ruthlessness, wants to lie like a rag doll with his limbs at impossible angles; the thought of the skin on his face puffing and turning red and purple and blue is even more arousing.

And somehow he never reaches that point; Makoto's control is too exact and he will never let Reo get too far. Perhaps it's knowing that he could very well break every bone in Reo's body, tear every ligament apart one-by-one if he wanted to, but he never does, that he pulls back and there's a look of something that's not quite concern on his face—either way it's a comfort. It's trust.

* * *

288\. Like This (Fukuda Hiroshi/Furihata Kouki) for anon

"I'm going to put it in, okay?"

"Yeah," Kouki breathes.

Hiroshi's hands lower him steadily down onto his cock, even with lube and Hiroshi stretching him out it still takes him a few seconds to get used to the way it fills him up quite this much; Hiroshi looks up at him until he murmurs an assent and then Hiroshi slowly starts to rock his hips.

Their rhythm is different every time, somehow sorting itself out between them—sometimes it's hard, sometimes erratic, sometimes some other way. This time it's slow and steady, Hiroshi's thumb brushing across the tip of Kouki's cock as they roll their hips to meet each other's thrusts perfectly. For this they need no words, each only reacting to the other's reaction in order to make small adjustments. The warmth is building deep inside of Kouki; Hiroshi begins to run his fingers up and down Kouki's cock and Kouki's eyes flutter; he breathes in hard and rolls his hips harder. Hiroshi's thrusts begin to get more erratic as he, too, can feel the finish close at hand; he murmurs Kouki's name in a low, throaty tone. Hearing it from Hiroshi's lips like this only feeds Kouki's enthusiasm; he cries out wordlessly and clenches around Hiroshi. They're howling by the time they come, at close enough to the same time that making a distinction is utterly pointless.

* * *

289\. Pretty Tension (Sanada Naoto/Kise Ryouta) for anon

Sanada's fingers twist in Kise's hair, pulling the blond strands tight until Kise feels like he's going to pull it out; he whimpers and Sanada lets go, instead squeezing Kise's chin and tilting his face upward. Sanada's glasses are slightly askew—a bit of a reflection on how unhinged he is, perhaps, and in certain situations Kise might laugh but this is frightening.

"I saw Nijimura looking at you," Sanada breathes. "Were you flirting with him? Were you?"

"No, I—"

Kise flinches before Sanada's hand strikes his face, an errant nail scraping the edge of his nose.

"Don't say you can't help it," Sanada says, leering in closer.

Kise squeezes his eyes shut.

"Look at me, Ryouta. Look at me."

Kise forces his eyes to open; Sanada's face is nearly on top of his and his breath is tickling Kise's cheek.

"Ryouta, why are you tempting other men? Am I not enough for you?"

Kise doesn't answer.

"You little whore, willing to spread your legs for just about any man who looks."

Sanada's hand trails down to Kise's throat and squeezes; Kise tries to gasp for air but fails, not even managing a wheeze; a few seconds later Sanada releases him and Kise crumples to the floor.

"Pathetic," says Sanada. "Absolutely pathetic."

* * *

290\. Interesting Situation (Nijimura Shuuzou/Kise Ryouta/Hanamiya Makoto)

Hanamiya's grin makes him shudder but Hanamiya's tongue between his legs is even worse, a torturous tease.

"Damn, Kise, you were right. You two look great like that."

"Nijimuracchi…" Kise whines.

Nijimura kisses Kise's mouth, cheeks neck, nibbles at his collarbone.

Hanamiya spreads Kise's legs further, working pinches and bites on the insides of his thighs; Kise whines again and reaches for his cock.

"Not yet," says Nijimura, grabbing both of Kise's struggling hands.

Kise whines again, wordless this time; his cock is aching and he just wants to get off now and cut to the chase. The denial in and of itself is exciting, though, arousing him further.

Nijimura shoves his hand into Kise's mouth and Kise sucks, what Nijimura is going to use it for is beyond him. Hanamiya mutters something under his breath as Kise bucks his hips; Kise can't focus long enough to hear it even with his eyes closed. The stimulation is too much and yet too little; Kise's always greedy and never satisfied but anyone would be begging for more at this point.

"Please…please," he chokes out around Nijimura's fingers.

"Hear that Hanamiya?"

"No."

"Please, please, Hanamiya-san, please touch me."

Hanamiya drums his fingers on Kise's thigh.

"There?"

"No, please touch my cock."

Hanamiya's touch is feather-light and short and yet Kise feels on fire, bucking his hips and screaming for that one morsel of pleasure.

"Anything else?"

"Please fuck me, Hanamiya-san, please fuck me until I come."

"Aww, Nijimura, did you hear that? He asked so nicely."

"Yeah, he's been good; give him what he wants."

"I hope you're ready," says Hanamiya.

Kise can't whisper an affirmative fast enough.

* * *

291\. Unrequited (Kagami Taiga/Mayuzumi Chihiro) for anon

He's all wrong; he's too tall and his voice is too deep and he's not nearly affectionate and careful enough; his eyes are emotionless, not like he's hiding his emotions but like he has none in the first place. Even when the moonlight gleams off his pale flesh like he's a vampire, Mayuzumi still doesn't come close to matching Kuroko. Kagami might be a fool but he can't fool himself.

It's not like they don't know why they're there, why they're trying to make the skin on skin blur so fast they can't see each other, why Mayuzumi won't meet his eyes. He's no Akashi, either; jumping prowess and red hair aside he's even less like that guy than Mayuzumi is like Kuroko, a painful reminder to the way Akashi held Kuroko's hand and the satisfaction in Kuroko's eyes. It's not a coerced relationship; Kuroko actually likes him—Mayuzumi likes him, too, but he settles for Kagami anyway, rides him with eyes closed and head thrown back and neither of them speaks. Even the moans are the wrong tonality and dissonant with their imaginations; Mayuzumi's got a good one but even he can't imagine away Kagami's large frame and darker hair and the way he moves and substitute them with Akashi.

Still, they feel satiated; they let each other be. There is no whining, no way of telling the other to just get over it, especially when they don't want to get over it. They want the ones they want, plain and simple.

* * *

292\. Hurricanes (Imayoshi Shouichi/Hanamiya Makoto/Mibuchi Reo) for anon

It's been three days since Reo left; he'd argued with Makoto about the freshness date on the bag of bread that's still sitting on the kitchen table and kissed Shouichi goodnight deeper than usual and when they woke up he was gone and so was all of his stuff; he'd made off with the waffle iron and Shouichi's favorite coffee mug, too. Wherever he's going he doesn't seem to want to come back; it's too elaborate for an illusion but neither of them know what to do, really. The silence between them is uneven, supposed to be punctured by sweet words or flirtations or the quiet sound of his feet on the hardwood floor; ghost hands touch their shoulders.

(-)

Two weeks after he's gone they take his name off the lease. Makoto's already using most of his old dresser space and Shouichi drinks coffee out of the black mug commemorating Makoto's high school graduation; it's not the same size but it's close enough that he doesn't notice much of a difference in the mornings. They read the newspaper together and argue about stocks and the bed is too big without Reo between them but they fall asleep in the center together anyway, close enough to feel each other's body heat. There was a time when Shouichi would have teased Makoto for it, but now the peace between them is uneasy and even they do not want to rock the boat lest they get a face full of icy water.

(-)

A month after Reo leaves, they have sloppy drunk sex on the couch and Makoto tells Shouichi he's why Reo left and it might be half-joking but it's still half-serious and Shouichi rolls off the couch and onto the floor and pins Makoto beneath him and almost breaks his wrist with the force and fear etches itself briefly into Makoto's eyes before shaking itself off with the snap of his teeth.

Shouichi takes a long cold shower and they sleep on the sides of the bed, but in the morning it's like a dislocated shoulder, fixed but aching and now they're back to their old ways, setting verbal traps for each other except when Shouichi's feeling overly-affectionate. The Reo-shaped hole in the fabric of their lives remains but they're patching it up as best they can.

* * *

293\. De-Stress (Ootsubo Taisuke/Nakatani Masaaki) for anon

Masaaki flips over the paper and scribbles on the back; dented lines appear on the sheet but nothing in red. He's out of ink again; this is the third pen he's used tonight already. This year's students are particularly stubborn in their unwillingness to learn English; while it would be great if all or most of them were fascinated with the language he'd settle for a bunch who want to learn enough to pass the class, but these kids seem to be content with failing.

As Masaaki rummages in his bag for another pen, Taisuke sets a mug of hot tea on the table and sits down next to him. He squeezes Masaaki's shoulder lightly and Masaaki can't help but smile; just this much of Taisuke can poke holes in his bitter mood.

"They can't all be stupid," Masaaki grumbles. "At this point, they have to be actively trying to fail. I'm teaching it the way I always do."

Taisuke squeezes his shoulder again. "Is it something in particular they're not getting?"

Masaaki's reading glasses slide down his nose; he lets them stay there so he can see Taisuke properly over the tops of the frames.

"Everything."

Masaaki sips on the tea; it's strong, almost overwhelming—just the way he likes it. Taisuke's hand is still on his shoulder, less a weight than a support somehow (but then, everything about their relationship is inverted). His touch is warm and firm and somehow like this, grading the rest of the papers doesn't seem so daunting.

* * *

294\. Softcore (Fukuda Hiroshi/Furihata Kouki)

They had sex at Furihata's place once on a quiet morning in late summer when his parents had left for work and Fukuda had stayed over the previous night; it was so hot the previous night that neither had been able to sleep much especially so close to the other and when the cooler morning had broken like a fever they'd managed to catch a few hours. They were both fuzzy and disoriented and Furihata's bed was so tiny they did it on the hardwood floor instead and Fukuda got a splinter in his elbow that almost killed the mood but then he'd leaned against the wall and Furihata rode him and their hips moved in a near-perfect rhythm with each other and it was worth it, but only as a one-time thing.

They do it sometimes when Fukuda's parents are home; their bedroom is across the house and they think Furihata's just a friend, their son's nice classmate—they do homework until they're sure Fukuda's parents are asleep and then they shower together, voices muffled by the crash of the water and the dampness of the thick wooden bathroom door and the way they swallow each other's words and sounds when their lips are joined.

Fukuda's parents work a lot; they go on business trips and leave him alone in the house with instructions to not bring over any girls and somehow Fukuda tells them he won't with a straight face and has Furihata over instead. Furihata feels dishonest about it but Fukuda tells him not to worry so much, and it's hard to worry when Fukuda cooks him dinner and burns the rice again and apologizes so sweetly with the right kind of furrow in his brow and dinner doesn't matter really when all Furihata can really think about is Fukuda's hand on his thigh.

The slow after-dinner retreat to Fukuda's bedroom is quietly adventurous in a way Furihata loves, Fukuda taking his hand and Furihata surprising himself with his own boldness and playing with the buttons on Fukuda's shirt and pressing kisses to his jaw and listening for the little whines that Fukuda makes. The plaster on the ceiling of Fukuda's room is cracking; he'd concentrated on that the first time that was awkward and halting and slow and they'd both apologized afterward because it was probably too soon for either of them to be comfortable with.

But now the slope of Fukuda's back is comfortable under Furihata's fingertips and it's easy to look into his eyes as he slides inside and starts thrusting. Their rhythm is familiar and easy and his fingers are warm around Furihata's cock and yet it's not old hat; neither of them is tired of it yet, of exploring each other's bodies and sliding hands up each other's rib cages for the shivering reaction, of climaxing together (or one so shortly after the other that it doesn't make too much of a difference), sloppy kisses in the aftermath and napping until midnight when they get up for round two.

It's always softer, lazier, slower this time, feeling with hands and lips in the dark under the covers even when they've got the fan going full blast in the summer, Furihata sucking on one of Fukuda's nipples and trying to get off on the spasms and the sounds, and then trailing lower to take Fukuda's cock in his mouth until Fukuda wriggles away and pulls him up, fists both of their cocks and slides his hand across and the friction makes Furihata's eyes flutter and his jaw clench.

* * *

295\. Your Hands (Nijimura Shuuzou/Himuro Tatsuya) for anon

The peaks of Tatsuya's pale knuckles are sharp against the navy couch cushions, both in angle and in color. Even in the hot Los Angeles summer when the sun beats hot on their backs and it feels like they're inside one of those giant walk-in kilns that he'd learned about in art class, Tatsuya doesn't really tan or burn; more than once Shuuzou has idly wondered if this is part of the deal he must have made with the devil to make him so pretty.

Even just his hands, the lengths of his slender fingers, the landscapes of his palms and the lines like rivers and callouses like frozen lakes, the scar on his knuckle from a cigarette burn that glows even paler than the rest of him, the firmness in the heel of his hand and the mole between two of his fingers, the only evidence that his hands have ever seen the sun—Shuuzou could stare at them for hours and still find more details to look at, observe the changing shadows and the way Tatsuya slowly curls his fingers into a loose fist over time, almost as if that's his true resting position.

"Are you spacing out again?"

Shuuzou looks up. "Kind of. Just thinking about your hands."

Tatsuya frowns and places one on top of Shuuzou's. "They're too small."

They're smaller than Shuuzou's, maybe, but still pretty big—Tatsuya's tall and strong but it's not good enough for him; he needs to be a few inches taller and a few pounds heavier and he wants the basketball to fly off his fingers with a different sort of brutality, still as graceful but ten times as lethal; he would sacrifice some of the the deftness of his fingers for more force if he could, if that would help him achieve what he's looking for—Shuuzou lifts Tatsuya's hand to his mouth and brushes his lips across Tatsuya's knuckles.

"You have beautiful hands."

The corners of Tatsuya's lips turn upward despite his attempts to stop himself, and his hand drifts to the back of Shuuzou's neck and he leans forward until their foreheads touch.

Tatsuya breathes his name and that's enough to send Shuuzou to the breaking point, to pin him down on the couch and kiss all the breath out of both of them until his lungs are on fire and he slumps down onto Tatsuya's chest and Tatsuya's wonderful hands are on his back drumming patterns like the beat to a song he's never heard before but sounds so familiar he's already humming along.

* * *

296\. Fool (Nijimura Shuuzou/Aomine Daiki)

Aomine scowls; he doesn't look as much like a petulant little kid anymore—probably because he isn't one. It really has been too long; he looks too weary and Nijimura has a vaguely awful sensation in his gut that he's been away for too long and he's missed way too goddamn much, that they'll never be able to fit back together properly.

"You came back," Aomine says.

In his vice is trace of something too familiar and too much for Nijimura. He pulls Aomine into a rough hug and Aomine squeezes him back, burying his face in Nijimura's neck.

"Fool," Nijimura whispers. "Of course I came back."

* * *

297\. Drowned Sorrows (Mayuzumi Chihiro/Mibuchi Reo) for anon

He's trashed, one too many vodka martinis leaving more than a bitter taste in his mouth; it's made him turn inward and focus more on his anger with himself and with Seijuurou, with the way their relationship is splintering from the foundations, the way they'd both built it up assuming different things and even Seijuurou lacks foresight sometimes—but it's rare enough for Reo to wonder if he planned it, if he built them up to fail like this. Is he being paranoid? He lifts up his head, tries to focus his gaze on the wall clock and make out the hand positions to drag him away from this toxicity but then he spots a flash of grey.

A line from some American movie his mother had enjoyed too much and forced him to sit through flashes through his mind, "of all the gin joints in the world…" yes, of all the upper-crust bars in the world Mayuzumi Chihiro had to walk into this one. Perhaps he'd rather avoid Reo; hopefully he's still resentful but not enough to laugh at Reo's drunkenness.

He isn't.

"I thought you were with that guy?"

"Can't I get a drink by myself?"

He's aware that his limbs are swaying but can't stop them.

"Looks like you've had more than one."

Reo can't think of a comeback for that one.

Mayuzumi sighs. "You need me to call you a cab?"

He's still unfriendly and mean, but something about the tepid gesture makes something inside of Reo snap and he grabs onto Mayuzumi and buries his face in Mayuzumi's chest.

"Don't faint on me, you little shit. Don't puke either."

"I'm not going to."

He clings tighter.

"All I said was I'd call you a cab, not that, like, I'd marry you."

"Your chest is warm."

He probably looks disgusted right now. Reo snuggles closer and, to his surprise, Mayuzumi begins to stroke his hair.

"Just be quiet and let me handle it."

"Okay."

The rumble of his voice is soothing and his chest is comfortable; Reo might just fall asleep right here.

* * *

298\. Persevere (Ogiwara Shigehiro/Kuroko Tetsuya) for anon

Kuroko's grown up since Shigehiro last knew him; he's grown tougher and angrier and more assuming and stronger, and it takes him a while to get used to. Sometimes he wonders if he's just chasing an ideal, a replica, a facsimile of childhood or of nostalgia, or if this Kuroko has not used him for the same purpose. Was his inspiration to return really Kuroko's inspiration, that he would not yield after his loss? Was it the thought that perhaps monsters like that could be defeated? Was it curiosity? What even drove him to accept Mochida's offer of tickets to that game?

And yet Kuroko acknowledges those differences; Kuroko is unafraid of change and of moving and growing and as Shigehiro learns to let go Kuroko is there to catch him and his small hand inside Shigehiro's is warm. He takes the initiative and kisses Shigehiro as they're walking home, under the streetlamp with the moths fluttering overhead, and yes this is a different Kuroko than the one who first learned the game with him and who spent summers with him running around and lying on the grass looking up at the sky. He's different and the way Shigehiro loves him is different but it's easier to tell him now when he's tracing circles with his fingers on Kuroko's chest and when they reaffirm that they're going to beat Akashi together—they'll vanquish the ghosts of the past together, leave the hurt and the sickness in the past but keep each other close, because if there's one thing they've learned over the years it's that. They will always come back to each other like magnets; they will always be each other's homes; their hands will always fit together and their passes to each other will always be on target.

* * *

299\. Humiliation (Mibuchi Reo/Hanamiya Makoto) for anon

Utter humiliation, that's what this is—and that's what it's meant to be; Makoto has already accomplished that part of his punishment. Reo feels as if he's on the set of some porno, collared and leashed and bound as he is, vibrators buzzing gently against his nipples. People are whispering and staring (is Makoto going to pay them off?) as Makoto leads Reo around and then sits down on a bench, crossing his legs.

"Sit," says Makoto.

Reo moves to sit beside him and Makoto slaps him. "On the ground."

Reo crouches, curling up to hide himself somewhat—of course Makoto will not allow it.

"Spread your legs," says Makoto. "Don't be shy, Reo."

He does it slowly and Makoto clicks his tongue, grabbing the vibrators on his nipples and turning them up—Reo writhes in the intensity, closing his eyes and reflexively groaning as his body shakes. He feels like he's nearing the edge but rapidly decelerating, the cock ring keeping him from orgasm. He opens his eyes, breathing hard.

"Yes, yes, that's it," says Makoto. "Now come sit with me."

Reo lifts himself up and onto the bench, warily eyeing Makoto. They can't be done yet; even though everyone's still staring and he feels as if his face is going to burn off from embarrassment, he still hasn't come yet and Makoto seems like he still hasn't done everything he wants to.

For the next few minutes Makoto berates him; Reo tunes him out and Makoto knows he's doing this but he keeps going—just the notion that people are watching this all unfold is enough of an ego trip for him; how typical. He can almost deal with the vibrating on his nipples, but it's still a distraction, still (along with the cock ring) keeping him plenty aroused.

Makoto drags his hand down Reo's back; his sharp nails are tingling and stinging his bare skin but it feels so good. He bucks his hips and whines again.

"What is it that you want, Reo?"

"Let me come."

He says it demurely, looking down.

"Really?"

"Please, please will you let me come?"

God, just hearing himself makes him cringe.

Makoto fishes around in his pocket for a minute and takes out their favorite toy, a large purple vibrating dildo, and flicks it on.

"Fill me, please!"

"Impatient, are we?"

Makoto runs it along the tip of Reo's cock and he sobs, shuddering and slumping, spreading his legs again.

"Please, Makoto."

"Perhaps I'll put it away," says Makoto dismissively.

"Please don't."

"You shouldn't say things like that if you don't know where I'm going to put it away."

Oh.

"Yes, please, please put it away, please put it inside me."

Makoto hovers the dildo at Reo's entrance; Reo squirms toward it. Makoto laughs but sticks it in; it's going faster than Reo would like, faster even than usual, but the pain and the pleasure feel good together. Makoto keeps pushing until the dildo is all the way in and then moves his hand away.

It takes a minute for Reo to get used to it, but once he does it's hitting all the right spots synchronously with the vibrators on his nipples; the pleasure of the shaking makes him spasm and scream in ecstasy. His orgasm is building inside; this time it's going to happen—and finally, he comes, screaming and slumping forward, eyes screwed shut.

"I hope you learned your lesson," Makoto whispers.

* * *

300\. Gobsmacked (Midorima Shintarou/Momoi Satsuki) for anon

She can top his score in math and beat him at shogi and figure out where on the court he's going to run before he even decides that and her looks are a distraction for all the first-years on the team who find ways to ogle at her when they should be running laps and she's an intelligent person who is somehow friends with Aomine and all of those things should make him hate her but he absolutely can't.

They review notes together, sometimes with Akashi when he's not dealing with the media or the coaches, but when they're alone she sits a little bit closer and her hair falls over her ears just so and he can smell traces of her generic floral perfume and sometimes he wants to trace the outline of her eyes with a bandaged fingertip but most of the time he's too busy debating how they should use the forwards and she leaves post-its on his clipboard with little hearts drawn on them and sometimes he looks at her and his stomach drops worse than when he's waiting to go onstage at a piano recital. He wants very badly to touch her, and sometimes he imagines exploring the roundness of her thighs under her skirt and the angle of her jaw against her neck and he feels ashamed and intrigued and intoxicated all at once.

She catches him in early summer when they're both supposed to be in class but he's returning from the bathroom and she's probably wormed her way out again, the light through the leaves on the trees outside of the open windows throwing patterns of light all around her like she's some kind of pixie (but pixies don't exist) and she grabs his hands in hers and stands on her tiptoes to reach his mouth. He can't move or speak or believe that she is touching him in this way; his eyes are frozen open but hers are shut and her long, thick eyelashes throw delicate shadows across her cheek.

When she lowers herself, he still can't think of what to do with his hands and the panic must be evident on his face because she laughs—he's about to go into full-on crisis mode because this has got to be a joke and he knows he's awkward and uptight but she squeezes his hands and he remembers she's still holding them.

"We'll do better next time."

Oha-Asa had not prepared him for anything like this.

* * *

301\. On Point (Imayoshi Shouichi/Izuki Shun) for anon

wow sorry for the lateness and my incredibly dull/overused puns

"Your humor's quite on point," Imayoshi says, teeth glittering like snake eyes as he grin.

Izuki blinks and smiles back. "So is yours; I think I'm letting down my guard."

"Ah, that's a relief then. I was hoping you wouldn't pass on me."

"Shoot," says Izuki. "I'd never let that happen."

They smile at each other again and Mitobe tugs on Riko's sleeve.

"You're right; we have to save him," says Koganei.

Riko clears her throat, eyes steely in agreement. "Izuki, it's time to go."

He turns back to her and waves his hand. "I'll catch up later. We're having a ball here."

Riko shudders. "You two deserve each other."

She grabs Mitobe and Koganei and pulls them behind her as she walks away.

Izuki shrugs. "She's usually less of a spoilsport."

Imayoshi laughs low and clear and at that moment Izuki decides it's the most wonderful sound in the world.

* * *

302\. Truth (Furuhashi Koujirou/Hara Kazuya) for anon

Furuhashi lies through his teeth about everything, cheating on tests and tripping people and denying it all the way, giving out malicious advice with a straight face as Hara fights against snickering. Hara's not one for all that mushy stuff like talking about his feelings and shit; he's never going to surprise Furuhashi with a dozen roses or declare that he's the best thing to ever happen to him or whisper sweet nothings into his ear. But still, it's hard to gauge what's going on behind his blank stare and what he's really thinking about, what he really thinks of Hara. He acts like it's just a diversion, that it means nothing to him, has said things that indicate it, and yet—he knows exactly what he's doing when he bites harshly enough to draw blood on Hara's neck just above the neckline of his basketball jersey, when he rakes his nails deeply into Hara's back; he's claiming Hara for his own, which in Furuhashi-speak is about as close as it damn well gets to an "I love you".

* * *

303\. Talk Dirty (Aida Kagetora/Kise Ryouta) for thehorriblefantasies

Kagetora slips his arm around Ryouta's waist and kisses him on the cheek and Kise grins. Sometimes he hates the nickname (it's embarrassing and awkward when they're around Riko) but at times like these it might just be the best thing ever. After all, it's nice to be reassured of how attractive he is and for some reason he just finds the term very endearing.

"How's your day been going?"

"Fine, fine," he murmurs, nuzzling Ryouta's neck and slipping his hand up Ryouta's t-shirt to palm his abs.

"I have an appointment in half an hour," Ryouta says.

"Good; we have plenty of time," says Kagetora.

Here in the gym office it's pretty private, and one of the perks of working together is that they can sneak off for times like these. Kagetora spins him around and places him on the desk; a few papers slide off onto the floor.

"You look so hot all sweaty like that," Kagetora whispers, chomping on Kise's earlobe.

"I love it when you talk dirty to me," says Ryouta, wrapping his legs around Kagetora's torso.

Kagetora rolls his hips.

"Oh, I think I'm getting hard," says Ryouta.

"Good," says Kagetora, palming him through his athletic shorts.

Ryouta moans. "God, your hands are so good."

Kagetora yanks off Ryouta's shorts and underwear and then pulls down his own as well. He's hard, too; fully extended it's incredibly large—Ryouta's never been obsessed with size but it's pretty damn incredible.

"I want you to fill me up."

Kagetora kisses him soft and sloppy. "Later. Suck."

He shoves his hand into Ryouta's mouth and Ryouta complies, drenching Kagetora's fingers in saliva until he's satisfied and pulls his hand out. He grabs Ryouta's cock and the cool slippery feeling is intoxicating. He moans again and Kagetora presses their cocks together, pumping them both at once. The pulse of Kagetora's cock and the lack of friction on his wet hand are only driving Ryouta harder and faster to the breaking point.

"I want you in me now, Kagetora."

The steeliness of his voice catches Kagetora off-guard and then his grip slackens.

"Shit, I want to be inside those hot cross buns right now."

"Then get to it."

He grabs the lube from the desk drawer and hastily applies it to his cock and then spreads Ryouta's legs open. He'd loosened him up that morning but they'd taken too long and hadn't gotten to doing it—Ryouta nods to signify he's ready; it might be a bit tight but especially with the lube it won't be too bad. Slowly, Kagetora moves forward, filling Ryouta up and making him whine and squirm.

"You look amazing on my cock.""

"The view from here isn't so bad, either," Kise murmurs.

Kagetora's sweaty face and defined arms and powerful thighs below him are so goddamn gorgeous, and from this angle the rocking of his hips looks incredible, dangerous and deliberate, and it isn't too long before Ryouta spills out onto the desk as Kagetora fills him up; they slump together panting.

"You were great," Kagetora whispers.

Ryouta kisses the corner of his mouth.

* * *

304\. The Boss (Mibuchi Reo/Kise Ryouta) for anon

From day one he'd been told the boss had taken a liking to him even though he'd never met this boss—apparently, he's quite good at concealing his presence (his immediate superior had told him, confidentially, of course, that the boss had trained with ninjas according to the legends, and perhaps that's true—at least, it's as likely as any other scenario). It's probably the looks; it's always the looks, the wide-set eyes with long lashes and silky hair even in conditions like these, elegant tapered fingers and the way he walks and swings his hips just so. He's not some low-level thug the way the rest of them are; he acts like he's not and they don't treat him like he is. Even here, where they suppress everyone's differences, for some reason he's allowed to stand out.

And apparently that reason is the boss's whim; at least that's what Reo concludes from the pieces of conversation he hears from around the corner or when he's pretending to sleep, but if this boss likes him so much then why doesn't he make the effort to meet him?

Eventually, of course, things come to a head and his supervisor comes by one day when he's doing busy work and says the boss wants to see him, now, and points him in a direction. His heart rate quickens and he scolds himself for being so childish; of course he should anticipate this but not this much because he doesn't know anything about him; he could be ugly or ruthlessly cruel or so slick with grease he makes Exxon-Valdez look clean but even thinking of those brings something—not fear, he's stronger than that—into his body and he feels like he can't keep it inside. It's seeping through him as he walks down the hall, sticking to the carpet in a messy trail that everyone can follow.

He knocks at the door.

"Come in."

The voice is light, a little hoarse in the way everyone around here sounds from too much chain-smoking. He pushes open the door and enters; as his eyes adjust to the brightness of the room he takes a small step backward. This man is the most beautiful he's ever seen.

"Like what you see?" he drawls.

"Yes," Reo breathes.

There's no point in being coy right now, not when he might actually get what he wants—and being fucked by a guy like this, the taste of his sour smoky breath and seeing that half-feral glint in his eyes.

He motions for Reo to sit on a folding chair in front of the desk and then steps out from behind; his legs are long and even in baggy suit pants Reo can tell they're elegant and beautiful. Their eyes lock; it feels like he can see inside of Reo, as if he's flipping through the index of Reo's mind and looking for something in particular—and then he bites his lip; for a second he looks vulnerable and unsure and twice as beautiful and then the confidence is back at full force.

"Spread your legs wide open for me, darling."

His voice is silky smooth and sweet now, sweeter than Reo could have ever imagined, sweeter than he has when he's alone at night biting the inside of his lips raw and pumping his cock as fast as he can—he obeys instinctively and the boss grins wider.

* * *

305\. Artificial (Midorima Shintarou/Kise Ryouta) for anon

"Kise."

"Midorimacchi?"

"Please. Talk to me while I work. Make background noise."

"Okay."

As the voice begins spewing out randomly-programmed facts, Midorima plugs in his phone. The AI assistant app that he only downloaded when his mother all but forced him to (it was more than a little insulting to the pride he takes in his organizational skills) is actually, all things considered, not as bad as he thought it would be. It's largely unhelpful and very chatty, and it's all Midorima can do sometimes to not throw his phone across the room when he just wants directions to the nearest train station, but it seems almost human sometimes. It's silly to think that; it's just a machine even if its learning algorithms are scarily efficient and its voice seems real. And after all, that's why he tells it all his secrets and all his anxieties—any real person would make fun of him; perhaps Takao wouldn't but he can't burden Takao with all of his insecurities and things like that. Even if Kise doesn't always have good advice, it's good to just hear his own voice talk.

And it's good to listen, too, to hear a cheerful voice; he opens the textbook but does not read.

"Midorimacchi, are you working?"

"How could you tell?"

"Motion sensors built into your phone."

"Ah."

"If it's better for you, I'll be quiet."

The "no" is on the tip of his tongue before he slams the roof of his mouth down and covers his tightly-shut lips. Why?

He knows damn well why he wants it. He's sick; this is all sick.

"Midorimacchi?"

"End program."

Every night it ends up like this; he's become too dependent on Kise, believes too much in something false. But with the way his heart is constricting and his stomach is tightening, it's too hard to lie to himself completely—these feelings are all too real.

* * *

306\. Not a Ruse (Furuhashi Koujirou/Takao Kazunari) for anon

"I still think this is some elaborate ruse," says Hara as he sips his shake.

"I don't know. It's weird even for him," says Yamazaki. "I don't know what he'd get out of making the whole damn thing up."

"Yes, but that Takao person would agree to fake it," says Hanamiya.

"But why? There are easier ways to confuse us," says Hra.

"I'm not confused; are you?" says Hanamiya.

Two tables over, Takao and Furuhashi are engaged in conversation; the usually stoic Furuhashi is following Takao's rapidly-moving hands with his gaze. He doesn't put in this much effort for just anything.

"Did Takao just take his hand?" says Yamazaki.

"He didn't shake him off," says Hara. "I say it's real. Even if it's not, we're still making fun of him."

Yamazaki nods; Hanamiya rolls his eyes; Seto snores.

* * *

307\. Beauty is as Beauty Does (Nijimura Shuuzou/Mibuchi Reo) for anon

The curl of his mouth and the angle of his elbows, the way his hair falls over his ears just so and the bulge of his biceps obvious beneath his t-shirt, the slow burn of the fire in his eyes like a freshly-lit cigarette—Shuuzou's so beautiful it hurts to look at him sometimes, wild and jaded but without the crust of ugliness those kinds of people tend to develop to hide them against the world. He's rare like that but it won't do to compare him to a precious gemstone or an endangered species; Shuuzou is so much more than that, the solidness of the ground beneath Reo's feet and that swiftness of descending down a hill, the gorgeous roughness of the way their mattress squeaks when Shuuzou settles down on it, climbing in next to Reo and placing a kiss on the side of his face. His lips re bitter but fascinating; Reo would capture their outline forever if he could and implant it on his collarbone, but there's no need for that when Shuuzou kisses it so often because he knows Reo wants it without Reo having to say anything. And that, too, is beautiful.

* * *

308\. Draw You (Mibuchi Reo/Sakurai Ryou) for anon

Ryou sits cross-legged on the floor, pad in his lap and charcoal in his hand. Reo cranes his neck to get a better look and Ryou shoots him a death glare.

"Don't move and don't look until I'm done."

But a small smile creeps up on Ryou's face, as it has almost since their Saturday afternoon routine began—Reo will always try to catch a glimpse when he's posing and Ryou will always shut him down sternly because nothing, not even Reo, will come between his mind and the paper except the charcoal, which only exists as a medium of communication, a channel—watching him work is always fascinating; Reo would watch it forever if it didn't mean he couldn't touch Ryou or get through to him at all.

Ryou places the charcoal by his side and the intensity falls from his face like oil.

"I'm sorry about the nose," he says.

Reo hurries to his side; the nose looks perfect—if anything it's even prettier than his actual nose.

"It's perfect," he says, kissing Ryou on the cheek.

* * *

309\. Fated Day (Midorima Shintarou/Takao Kazunari) for anon

The thought of this day being fated to be theirs does have a certain kind of appeal to it, and perhaps it's a reason to hold Kazunari's hand tighter. True, they no longer wear orange jerseys with numbers on their backs and it's been a long time since they wore those particular numbers, but it was with those numbers that they forged their friendship, with those numbers they consummated their relationship, with those numbers they first committed themselves to each other in many different ways.

And it wouldn't have happened without Kazunari's persistence and determination during that time, the way he broke down all of Shintarou's walls with brute force and a complete refusal to let in but still waited for Shintarou to invite him in to really enter, and thinking of that makes him want to hold Kazunari and never let him go.

Kazunari glances up at him and smiles, squeezing Shintarou's hand—of course he knows all of this already but it doesn't mean Shintarou's not going to tell him again late at night when they're half asleep and Shintarou feels less inhibited (even now it's hard to express himself honestly sometimes). Yes, fate has brought them together but they have sealed their own destiny and it's exactly the way they want it.

* * *

310\. Somehow a Date (Kagami Taiga/Midorima Shintarou) for anon

Midorima eats methodically, holds his chopsticks in that perfect sort of elegant way Kagami's mom had always told him to do but never could; his hand is poised and the movements of his jaw are small and light and he actually looks good eating—a thought that makes Kagami want to bury himself in the ground and disappear as soon as he thinks it.

"Didn't anyone tell you that staring is rude?"

Kagami scowls.

"Although knowing the rest of your manners they probably didn't."

God, Kagami wants to punch that smug bastard's fucking lights out. He looks down at his plate and resumes shoveling the sushi into his mouth.

"If you're going to stare, at least learn the right way to eat."

He is so fucking impossible but when Kagami looks up those tapered fingers are clutching his cup of tea and they are so fucking hot; Midorima is so fucking hot—even if he's an uptight self-important nerd.

Midorima insists on paying the bill and that he'll have to bring Kagami back again to teach him table manners, but the slightest tremor in his tone and the flimsiness of the excuse betray him.

Kagami kisses him right outside the restaurant, quick and close-mouthed.

"Thanks for dinner. I'll buy next time."

Midorima mutters something under his breath about Kagami's incorrigibility but as they part an unmistakable half-smile twists at his lips.

* * *

311\. Not Too Much Change (Nijimura Shuuzou/Midorima Shintarou) for anon

His voice is deep and controlled; he is more controlled—it's been a month since they met again by chance and yet sometimes it's still jarring to bridge the gap in his mind between the round-faced kouhai who went around cleaning up after everyone else, complaining the whole time but doing the dirty work, and this man who's more selfish and more careful but a bit less anxious. It helps that he's taller than Nijimura by a few inches or so (the last time they'd known each other he'd thought about distance in centimeters, hadn't he?) but it's also kind of annoying because he's supposed to be small and adorable but now he's beautiful in a way that he always has been but Nijimura was unable to see. The eyelashes have always been there, and so has the way he carried himself, back straight but eyes turned down—he's grown into it more than anything. It would have been a sight to see, the gradual way he must have slipped into it, limbs lengthening and body becoming more defined, angles appearing and expression re-twisting itself—and yet if he was there to see it perhaps he wouldn't have noticed at all. And he never would have felt those bandaged fingertips on his skin, felt the silkiness of that green hair beneath his hands, tasted the sweet red bean on his lips and tongue.

* * *

312\. Appealing (Mibuchi Reo/Takao Kazunari) for anon

It's easy for Kazunari to react in a way that he knows will please Reo, but it's not always easy to gauge just what Reo's reaction will be—something positive could be gentle or rough or somewhere in between and he's never truly consistent. That's part of his charm, the way he always keeps Kazunari on his toes a bit and never lets things get dull. Not that they'd want to be dull with him around; Reo's presence is so beautiful that he makes lights shine brighter—at least in Kazunari's opinion. And that's the only one that should count, anyway.

* * *

313\. Sweet Three (Mibuchi Reo/Takao Kazunari/Hara Kazuya) for anon

Hara tastes like bubble gum and Mibuchi tastes like cupcakes with buttercream icing; Takao can almost feel the texture of the confectioner's sugar on his tongue. They're crafty and devious and at one point he would have called them wicked, but they're so surprisingly sweet that it almost cancels out the ill-intent—no, that's not quite right. It sends things in a different direction, a hotter direction, a direction where he's more than okay with their hands up his shirt and down his pants or their six legs all tangling up together on one bed, or the two of them whispering wicked things into his ear. Hell, he's even at the point where he's whispering dirty things right back (although that's a point not far beyond the last one). And it feels damn good, the right blend of sweet and spicy and agitated; he's never before felt so satisfied.

* * *

314\. All Night (Mibuchi Reo/Sakurai Ryou/Takao Kazunari) for anon

They feed one another dinner until they're not sure anymore which utensils go with which hands and which mouth, and it's Ryou's and Reo's cooking so it has to be good. Kazunari feels a little bit useless so he fixes them drinks afterward, coffee for Ryou and oolong tea for Reo and a gin and tonic for himself.

Ryou works all night sometimes because that's when inspiration strikes, paper and screen tones and ink strewn all around the living room, organized in a way that only he can decipher. The bed's too big without him and sometimes he falls asleep at the drawing table, pen stroke ending in a wavy line and hands curled around air like he's grasping at a concept. Reo carries him to bed then and he snuggles down, still mostly asleep, against Kazunari's chest.

* * *

315\. Make it Better (Akashi Seijuurou/Mibuchi Reo) for anon

It's easier to press closer in the dark, to blame faults in their night vision (even if the excuses are silent), to admit things more freely.

"It's lonely without you, Sei-chan," Reo whispers.

"I know," says Seijuurou (of course he does).

He kisses Reo's collarbone and then plants a trail up his neck and underneath his chin; Reo sighs and pulls him closer, hugs him tighter until it feels like the outline of his arm is making a dent in Seijuurou's narrow hips (it's not, of course, but he's always been good at lying to himself).

"I'm here, Reo," Seijuurou says.

He kisses Reo's cheek with cool lips; the feeling is bittersweet—he says it and he means it; he does care (Reo will never be more sure of something) but they're always being torn apart by the circumstances, by work and by social obligations, and it's only a few days every month that they're both at home in their apartment like this. How much longer will it be? Seijuurou's firm arms squeeze tightly around Reo's torso and even in the dark Reo can see the brightness of his eyes.

"Reo," he says.

Just enough is carried in the way Seijuurou says his name that no more needs to be spoken; Seijuurou's lips meet his and Reo is resolute that they will get through, that they are strong enough to vanquish this.

* * *

316\. Talk (Nijimura Shuuzou, Haizaki Shougo)

They let their fists do the talking, always, a few choice words exchanged here and there—but mostly it's Nijimura's swift uppercut, enough to mobilize and bruise but never seriously injure; he's always careful like that. Part of Haizaki is angry because he's being serious about this; he's giving it his all and lashing out with feet and fists and teeth like he means it and Nijimura's just treating him like a dumb kid, but part of him is happy when he realizes later that he's too important to really injure; they need him for basketball even though they've got five other players already. It's nice, having the twisted part of him validated like this—no, nice isn't the right word, really, but it'll do for now.

* * *

317\. Have You Ever (Mibuchi Reo/Hanamiya Makoto)

"Say, Hana-chan, have you ever kissed a man before?"

"What kind of question is that?"

Hanamiya's thick eyebrows are knitted in angry confusion and he's squinting at Mibuchi and looking for some kind of ulterior motive—Mibuchi has one, of course, but he doesn't intend to let Hanamiya figure it out for himself. At this point, though, he's about to, so Mibuchi leans forward and presses their lips squarely together. Hanamiya pulls back before Mibuchi can get a proper taste and he still looks confused (quite adorably so) but he's also angry.

"What was that for?"

"You liked it, didn't you?"

"Shut up."

His cheeks are flared and his mouth is positioned in an adorable little pout that's so kissable—Mibuchi knows if he tries it again he'll probably get punched, but it will almost definitely be worth it.

* * *

318\. Vacations (Midorima Shintarou/Kise Ryouta) for partyinwesteros

It's not often that he gets to enjoy waking up with the sun falling through the sheer curtains and not with the blare of his phone alarm in some hotel in a foreign city where he can't speak the language and has a day of shooting all day in a hot studio to look forward to. This vacation home is lovely and it appeals to Ryouta's senses of what a home should be, much more than their sparsely-decorated apartment does. It helps that he's woken up next to Shintarou every morning instead of alone; Shintarou's real and breathing deeply beside him instead of existing as a foggy half-awake memory from an hour earlier when the first alarm rang. He's beautiful in his stillness (he's always beautiful), hair slightly mussed but lying perfectly straight under the covers. The circles under his eyes are still dark—he's never going to catch up on sleep even if they stay here for a month (and two weeks is already pushing it with his demanding bosses at the hospital) but he knew that going in; they both knew that going in—that Shintarou's work would pull at his time and Ryouta's would pull him across the earth and they knew going in that they might not even have this much guaranteed, two weeks to themselves, and it is so unbearably precious to Ryouta, to both of them, just to have a few moments like this one.

* * *

319\. Nap (Midorima Shintarou/Murasakibara Atsushi) for huongyukapham

The afternoon is silent but for their steady breathing and the flutter of the pages of Midorima's book in the wind—Murasakibara's is folded open against his chest with the cover facing outwards, though it wasn't on purpose, really. He'd fallen asleep like that on the couch, curled up with Midorima ever-so-slightly leaning against him, both absorbed in their books. The angle of the shadows has changed; the light is shining more brilliantly—it must be nearly sunset. Murasakibara isn't quite sure when he fell asleep, only that it must have been more than a few hours ago. In the time since, Midorima has fallen asleep against him, glasses still firmly on his face and book poised in his hands as if he's about to turn a page.

He never gets enough sleep, always up too late studying and practicing and forcing himself to do things—he likes chess and piano and basketball, but he shouldn't let them run his life. It's bewildering how he still likes them when he's put in so much work; it's not as if he's fooling himself.

"Mido-chin is so strange," Murasakibara whispers, more to sort through his thought process than to actually speak to someone—but hearing his name, Midorima stirs.

He blinks and stretches his back, rather catlike, and turns his face up to look at Murasakibara's. Their mouths are centimeters away, so Murasakibara closes the gap. He tastes slightly sour, not at all like the tea he'd been drinking earlier.

"I wasn't ready," Midorima says, adjusting his glasses.

"You liked it," says Murasakibara.

Midorima sniffs, but he doesn't deny it. The pout of his lips and the slight messiness of his hair only add to how cute he looks right now, so Murasakibara kisses him again on the cheek.

* * *

320\. Spank (Hara Kazuya/Furuhashi Koujirou) for anon

Hara's mouth splits open; it feels weird and raw without the customary wad of bubble gum between his teeth and the constant need to keep chewing—theoretically he could be chewing gum here, but it just seems too inappropriate and one thing might lead to another, and another thing might be him sucking Furuhashi's cock and he seriously doubts Furuhashi would be all that thrilled about gum stuck in his pubes. And more importantly it would be a waste of good bubble gum.

Furuhashi's still pulling down his underwear slowly; he's making a show of it—Hara whistles appreciatively. He's got a really nice ass and he knows it, firm and round and tight and it feels great under his palm. His cock is twitching now but all the better; it's Furuhashi's objective but Hara doesn't plan on standing in the way just for the sake of it. And it always feels better when he's already aroused. Furuhashi's underwear falls to the ground and he steps out of it. Hara crooks his finger at Furuhashi and grins wider.

"C'mere; bend over."

Furuhashi walks over casually; he's already half hard just thinking about it and the shamelessness of it all makes Hara shudder violently. Any other man would probably step back, but Furuhashi's unflappable and he bends over Hara's lap, making sure to balance himself so that he's weighing Hara down—it's so considerate of him.

"You're so naughty, Koujirou," Hara says.

Furuhashi doesn't move, and Hara brings his arm back and swings down. His hand lands on Furuhashi's bare rear with a smack, leaving a slight pink tint on a stretch of pale flesh. Furuhashi doesn't move. Hara smacks him again and again, the friction and the feel of the firmness under his palm making him buck his hips up into Furuhashi's.

"Aren't you a little bit sorry?"

"I didn't do anything."

The denial, usually within a range of annoying to vaguely amusing, is ridiculously hot right now—Hara smacks him again and this time Furuhashi twitches, almost kicking his feet up from the ground.

"It's getting to you, hmm?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Hara smacks him again and Furuhashi rolls his hips hard against Hara's; Hara groans.

"Damn it, Koujirou."

* * *

321\. Dirty (Akashi Seijuurou/Mibuchi Reo)

Seijuurou's breath is hot on his ear and his voice is thick and hot with want; the way the words drip from his lips like grease from barbecued meat is intoxicating regardless of what he says.

"I want to feel you tight around me, Reo," he says, and those words—hearing his name from those lips so close to his ears makes him whine and rock his hips.

"Good boy, moan for me," says Seijuurou.

"Sei-chan…" Reo's own voice is little more than a hoarse whisper.

They're still half-clothed and on the couch, Seijuurou straddling Reo's hips with those impossible legs of his, firm thighs pressing against Reo's hips and he feels like screaming and isn't sure how he's making sense of his thoughts and feelings.

"I want you to say my name louder, when I'm buried inside of you."

"Mm."

Reo rolls his hips up, trying to grind them into Seijuurou's, but Seijuurou sinks down on top of him with sudden force.

"Patience, Reo, patience. Don't you want to wait to come until I'm inside, hitting your sweet spot with every thrust? Don't you want my fingers around your bare cock?"

And this time it's too much and Reo really does scream, half-strangled and raw.

* * *

322\. Hotel California (Aomine Daiki/Kagami Taiga)

It's too early to be evening but too late to be afternoon; they're in the summer netherworld that only exists for about a month, rare and often forgotten, smoke from barbecues wafting through the air and bringing the smells of charcoal, meat, and sweet corn into their noses, a sweet mixture that makes them nearly hungry enough to get up and cook something for themselves. It's too comfortable here, though, too cool in the air conditioned living room—Aomine sighs and shifts Kagami in his arms, kissing his neck and then burying his face in the space where his neck meets his shoulder. Kagami grunts and digs his elbow into Aomine's ribs reflexively.

"Stop it," Aomine mutters.

Kagami ignores him, or perhaps he can't hear it from that angle. He straightens out his arm, removing it from the heated space between their bodies. Now that it's been brought to his attention, Aomine realizes that it actually was kind of uncomfortable although he'd tuned it out. Just being here with Kagami is so goddamn nice that it blocks out all of the discomfort—it's a strange thought, but he's comfortable with that sort of thing now well, a hell of a lot more comfortable than he'd have been a few years ago, and that's something.

* * *

323\. Ocean Avenue (Midorima Shintarou/Kise Ryouta)

Kise's fast, methodical, grabbing Midorima's hands and undoing the tape faster than Midorima can process what's going on, removing both of their clothes and he's still in some sort of haze and he finally snaps back to reality when Kise's mouth is on his and they topple over; this is real because he can never imagine Kise's spicy taste so perfectly in his daydreams and he's tried in vain too many times to recreate it.

They'll have a chance, maybe, after this, to renegotiate terms, to say they'll give it another go, but Midorima's not certain enough to say that that's what Kise wants, and maybe that's why they didn't work the first time, because he did not learn Kise as well as Kise learned him—but he has not forgotten; neither of them have. They remember the way their bodies connect, each touch so familiar and leaving both of them so breathless and it's like they never parted, emotions still like train wrecks but bodies perfect enough together to give Midorima enough hope.

* * *

324\. Where did the Party Go (Ogiwara Shigehiro)

The thump of his heart is too much of a distraction; Ogiwara's mouth is dry as he tries to synch it up with his dribble at the free-throw line—they've never been a weakness of his but it's been ages since he stood here, in a real game; it's been two years since he's done this in a real game and felt the eyes on him and it's not as thrilling now; it's anxiety-inducing—not as bad as the first time, but not nearly as good as the second or third or thirtieth, as fun as middle school was—but he's got to start somewhere.

He nods to the ref and then dribbles twice more, picking up the ball and hurling it toward the net. It bounces off and right back to him; he's still got one more.

Oddly, this one isn't as scary. No matter the outcome, he's done it again and the world hasn't crashed around him—he shoots again; it lands on the rim and then bounces out and right into the hands of his center. They'll get these points back; he's more than sure, and a smile lights up his face. One more hurdle cleared.

* * *

325\. All the Small Things (Kaijou Seniors)

The day they're supposed to retire, they go through one last shooting practice, and then they stay, still in their school uniforms, all too aware that their shoes are going to scuff up the floor something fierce and that Takeuchi-sensei will be mad, but they're not responsible anymore. Moriyama doesn't really have his shot anymore, not since Haizaki, and Kobori overexerted himself against Shutoku (he was the only one with enough height to even attempt to match Ootsubo and Midorima, even though he's not really on their level) and Kasamatsu's just too goddamn exhausted, and they're missing more than half but none of them gives a fuck; they just keep launching the ball because they refuse to let it die just yet. It's too soon.

* * *

326\. Some Nights (Nijimura Shuuzou/Himuro Tatsuya)

Sometimes Shuuzou kisses Tatsuya so hard he thinks his lips are going to fall off, but they still don't, so he kisses him again in case they really do this time and that was his last chance because really what else are his lips good for? They curl up in some weird kind of way that makes people want to jump him and the words roll off in weird patterns and he hates the way he speaks, in both Japanese and English, always trying to improve but never quite succeeding—but his lips are good against Tatsuya's mouth and neck and cheeks and fingers; Tatsuya traces over them sometimes when he thinks Shuuzou's asleep and it doesn't make that much sense to him and half the time he's convinced he really is asleep and it's just something his mind made up, a pattern that's just Tatusya's breath from their close proximity, but it's too deliberate for that, too deliberate to be an insect crawling on his face. Hell, all of him was made for Tatsuya, his arms to hold and his torso to lean against and his legs to straddle him and he's actually more than okay with that.

* * *

327\. Baleen Morning (Kagami Taiga)

He leaves before sunrise, off to catch some waves while he can, before the afternoon shift—it's probably stretching himself a bit too thin but he doesn't care; Alex says that he should be cautious but you're only young once so it should be fine, and it's already a little harder than it used to be, even though he's a fireman and keeps himself in top shape—each wave is harder, paddling back out seems kind of daunting on some mornings even when the surf isn't too choppy and rough and there aren't jellyfish in the water but he keeps going because the moment he doesn't try to go back out for one last wave is the moment that he's lost. It's the hunger that keeps him going, that drives him through the day sometimes when he's sitting in the station, the thing that fuels the burst of energy when he's getting a running start—he thinks of the waves.

* * *

328\. Sugar We're Goin Down (Nijimura Shuuzou/Himuro Tatsuya)

It's too far, too much, too strong, too fast; Tatsuya can't catch his breath and it's a damn good thing. The way Shuuzou looks at him sometimes makes him want to scream and shatter into a million pieces because Shuuzou can see the cracks in his façade; he looks hard enough and is good enough at not bullshitting himself into believing everything is fine; he's critical of everything in a dangerous sort of way and it's intoxicating because Tatsuya's waited his whole damn life for someone like this, someone who will grip the hammer with him and complete the smashing of himself, who will break him as he heals him—Alex sees the cracks but holds him together; Taiga was blinded by the sun's glare off his Plexiglas frame; his parents are too busy to notice; Shuuzou will cut straight to his heart with the precision of a surgeon; he's bloodthirsty and reckless enough to reconstruct him and knowing this is the most thrilling and frightening thing Tatsuya's ever known. And he loves it.

* * *

329\. The Only Exception (Haizaki Shougo)

The ash crumbles off the end of his cigarette and Shougo pauses for a minute to watch it fall, grey and white against the dark wood of the patio. He exhales smoke that vanishes into the air the way the ash vanishes when he grinds it under his foot. The rubber sole of his sneaker does not sizzle and burn; he knows that scent and sight and sound all too well. Here he is again, outside the court, alone in the dark—fucking poetic, isn't it? But he's still here; even if it's his stubborn contrarianism and the urge to prove everyone at this motherfucking school (and the last) that they were wrong, that he could last, that he could stand his own against them—he still can, handicap or no handicap. Tomorrow he's facing Ryouta again; tomorrow they will be out for revenge again but tomorrow so will he—not that games are won on will alone. They're won on skill and maneuver, and he can do that with the best of them. He crushes the butt of the cigarette under his other heel. He doesn't need a lighter to scorch them out of town.

* * *

330\. Circus (Aomine Daiki/Momoi Satsuki) for anon

The first time she kisses him is on the road to Nagasaki the night after the first time he's been on time to every performance in a city since Teikou; he'd owned the wires last night (he always does but that one was even better; he'd actually almost felt like he was actually flying even though he'd long-since convinced himself he never felt that way at all) and they're in the back of one of the trucks and she's doing the finances, somehow managing to keep her handwriting relatively steady, leaning against him, and she looks up and grabs his sweaty t-shirt and pulls him down to meet his mouth with hers. Neither one of them says anything for the rest of the ride, but he draws circles on her shoulder with his thumb and she leans her whole body against his unreserved.

The first time he kisses her is during the second performance in Nagasaki; she's running around with the clipboard backstage and he's about to go on; he can hear Harasawa's familiar speach through the curtain and she points her pen at him and he tilts her chin up and presses his lips against hers; he pulls back and she's breathless, skin flushed darker than her eyes, and she looks like she's about to hit him with her clipboard.

"For good luck," he says.

"You don't need it," she replies.

The twitching of her lips gives her away (but it's not like he can stop himself from grinning either).

* * *

331\. Long Time No See (Kiyoshi Teppei/Midorima Shintarou) for partyinwesteros

"I have green hair. My best friend claims you can't miss it."

Teppei rolls the postscript of the last letter over yet again in his mind; he can see the way it looks on the page, written in Shintarou's neat, cramped writing (is he really going to medical school in the fall?)—that's so Shintarou, really; if there's one thing Teppei can be absolutely sure of from his letters it's that he's weird in the most honest kind of way. He hadn't really pictured Shintarou's looks before, only vaguely imagined him as some sort of cross between Hyuuga and Furihata (he vaguely reminds Teppei of both of them; his intensity and defensiveness toward his nerdy hobbies is perhaps even greater than Hyuuga's and he talks about books the way Furihata does, and he seems quite shy) but other than that he has no idea. Green hair, though; that's unexpected. He doesn't seem like much of a rule-breaker, but then again how much does Teppei know about him? What is six years' worth of letters as the measure of a man?

And as he's spacing out again he sees a flash of green coming toward him; his eyes are too well-trained from years of basketball not to. He leans forward and Shintarou emerges from the crowd and he doesn't look like Hyuuga or Furihata at all (he might be taller than Teppei is) but he definitely has green hair and he's wearing the exact kind of badly-veiled nervousness that Teppei would expect.

"Shintarou?"

He turns, the tops of his ears reddening; Teppei waves. The flash of emotions on his face is too quick for Teppei to read even as they walk toward each other. He is taller, by five centimeters at least, but his face is very attractive and Teppei doesn't even mind looking up at it—not that he has much of a chance to when he wraps Shintarou up into his arms. He stiffens; he didn't seem like he'd be good with hugs but Teppei had to try anyway, and he awkwardly tries to pat Teppei on the back. But when Teppei draws back, Shintarou's got a soft half-smile on his face.

* * *

332\. Flower Shop (Mibuchi Reo/Imayoshi Shouichi) for crimsontentacles

The first time he'd come to the shop Eikichi had asked Reo if he was sure this wasn't some kind of money-laundering scheme and his boss wasn't in the yakuza and okay, Shouichi seems kind of shady at first with his accent and closed eyes and that ever-present grin on his face but he actually knows a lot about flowers and it's not just a cover-up. It's telling how carefully he transplants them, how much exactly he waters them—he's not the type of guy who'd be that concerned about making a cover for himself.

And Shouichi doesn't have any tattoos; his skin is pale and he's just a little too thin so that his elbows stick out and the bones prod against Reo when they do it in the sweaty, dark back room of the shop or under the table in the greenhouse but he can't stay mad about that when that mouth is doing such horribly obscene things to him and when those jerky movements of his are more pleasurable than the most graceful things Reo could imagine.

* * *

 

333\. Caught in the Rain (Aomine Daiki/Midorima Shintarou) for huongyukapham

They’re already in a full-out run when it starts to pour, the rain coming down in sheets upon sheets; Daiki stops at the end of the block and Shintarou crashes into him from behind because his glasses are too fogged up and he can’t see a goddamn thing. Daiki catches his arm and leads him under an awning and they can’t wipe his glasses clean because they’re soaked to the bone and there’s nothing to dry them with.

He can feel the water dripping off of his eyelashes and under the shelter he can see Daiki’s face a bit better (although it’s all relative; even in the brightest light his vision is shit) so he has a moment’s notice when Daiki leans in to kiss him and his lips taste of dirty urban rain and somehow Shintarou can’t get enough. The thunder rolls and Daiki hugs him closer; thunder always puts him on edge and Shintarou can’t really blame him; even though he’s not afraid of it it’s certainly not pleasant, so he lets what’s left of his body warmth seep through the soggy layers of clothing and onto Daiki’s skin and kisses his wet neck.

* * *

 

334\. After One Night (Imayoshi Shouichi/Hanamiya Makoto) for basketballandsuch

He wakes up in Shouichi’s bed, Shouichi’s arm curled around his body and he can’t tell if the bastard is still asleep or not because his breathing is fairly even and those goddamn eyes of his are always closed anyway. You aren’t supposed to hold your one-night stand this close even if you have a history with them; especially if you have a history with them—not that their history is really all that important or relevant. It’s been years since they saw each other and it’s not like the two of them were ever all that close to begin with. The weight of Shouichi’s arm is surprisingly comfortable, but Makoto picks it up gingerly and then drops it on the bed; Shouichi rolls over but remains asleep. Looking at him like this, awkward position and messy hair, drooling and lying only half under the covers he looks almost comical, a far cry from the menacing presence of Makoto’s middle-school days (not that he’d ever been scared of Shouichi). Still, it’s hard for him to look away from his form, the sinewy muscles of his arms (he’s still in good shape) and the way his lips curl upward even in dreams.

But the morning is cold and he has clothes to put on and things to do and he can’t stay here looking at Shouichi in the dim light for much longer. He doesn’t even want to; he’s just not fully awake yet.

* * *

 

335\. Android (Aomine Daiki/Midorima Shintarou) for thecarrotofshuutoku

Aomine could spend hours poking Shintarou’s pliable cheek while he’s plugged in, tracing the outlines of his eyelids and eyelashes and just staring at how utterly perfect he is—he’s not human, but that was all of his initial appeal; his preprogrammed personality can be grating and sometimes his physical perfection is too uncanny, but it’s gotten to the point where Aomine just doesn’t care anymore.

“I’m an android,” Shintarou says (as he does every damn day; it’s not like Aomine forgets).

Aomine kisses him to shut him up; the inside of his mouth is dry and tastes funny; he was never meant to do any kissing, but his algorithms let him learn how to respond to Aomine and how to imitate his motions, how to move his soft tongue against Aomine’s lips and give him time to breathe.

“I’m an android,” Shintarou repeats.

Perhaps it’s more to remind himself than to remind Aomine—but at this point there are no boundaries left to cross; there is nothing that they haven’t done or shared; what is he trying to stop himself from doing? And even though he can process sensory information and learn and perform, he can’t feel, can he? These kinds of things are uncomfortable to think about, so Aomine presses his lips against Shintarou’s again. Right now, thinking is what’s worst for both of them.

* * *

 

336\. Platonic Soulmates (Kise Ryouta, Mibuchi Reo) for remindmeofthe

Ryouta stays in Reo’s apartment so often that it might as well be his, wears Reo’s clothes and leaves his own hair products mixed in with Reo’s and buys nearly half of the groceries. Reo’s place is much closer to the studio but it’s also homier because Reo’s there to bake for him and yell at him and watch shitty game shows with him until three AM when they’re both hysterically laughing at stuff that isn’t actually that funny but they both get it in exactly the same way.

Reo gets him and he gets Reo; it’s hard to explain it in words—he’s tried and they’ve all come away with different impressions that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Reo’s not just a close friend or even a brother; they’re not just on the same wavelength; they’re not in love (it isn’t even a one-sided crush); the bond they share is something deeper than any of that. But it’s okay that no one gets it except for Reo; that’s it in a nutshell—Reo understands. It’s why they can never stay mad at each other for longer than a few hours; it’s why they always know what the other one’s going to want for dinner; it’s why Ryouta always ends up falling asleep on Reo’s couch or bed or floor and why Reo always lets him; it’s why he can’t deny it when his latest girlfriend dumps him because he prioritizes Reo; it’s why Reo tells him he’s a dumbass but hugs him harder than usual when he says it; it’s why Reo gives up on his own romantic conquests the first time they complain about Ryouta sleeping in the living room.

It’s not as simple as that, of course, but it’s as close as they can get with words, so it’ll have to do for now.

* * *

 

337\. Reunion (Fukui Kensuke/Araki Masako) for anon

Masako scowls again and clutches his hand tighter—any harder and she’s going to fucking break it. So maybe this wasn’t such a good idea; maybe he shouldn’t have bugged her about it and let her stay home and do her pilates or whatever, but they were going to find out anyway. It’s not like he could get through today without telling them anything about his life, and it would be impossible to tell them very much without telling them about her. Hell, he’s wearing his wedding ring and Himuro at least would be sure to notice. And after all, he’s bringing his American boyfriend so it should totally be fine for him to bring his wife, especially because she knows them all.

“It’s going to be awkward, Kensuke.”

“It won’t be. Well, these guys always make things awkward, but it’ll be fine.”

She doesn’t fall for his false bravado; she never does. Instead, she turns to the door of the diner and opens it and they walk in.

He’s learned the hard way to never hold the door for her, especially now that she’s pregnant—honestly he’s just trying to be nice and he’s not insinuating that she’s weak at all. It’s a sore spot between them, though, and now is not the time to bring it up.

He spots them immediately; Murasakibara and Liu are there already and Murasakibara is eating something. Liu waves at him and he makes his way over to the table, practically dragging Masako behind him.

“Wait,” says Liu.

Murasakibara drops his cookie.

Fukui wraps his arm around Masako’s waist. “Yup.”

“We’re married,” says Masako.

Murasakibara’s staring at her stomach and Liu is pointing his finger at both of them while moving his mouth. This is like something out of a shitty comedy, and Masako was right. It would have been easier just to tell them (and they haven’t even begun to deal with Okamura and Himuro yet).

* * *

 

338\. Studying for Finals (Akashi Seijuurou/Furihata Kouki) for anon

Again, Furihata bites his lip, staring at the math sheet in front of him. It’s not particularly hard; he can do the problem set—but it’s going to be so tedious. It will make things easier on the final, and all studying sucks—but this kind is the worst, the kind he can just get over with but he already wants to be over with.

He peeks over at Akashi’s paper; he’s doing something completely different, of course. The coursework at Rakuzan is a lot more challenging, and he’s in all advanced classes, anyway. Complaining about how boring his work is would be…lacking in perspective, but he can’t stop the sigh that escapes his lips. Akashi looks up.

"I’m sorry."

"It’s tedious, isn’t it?"

Furihata blinks. “I thought you liked this sort of thing.”

"I hate it, but it has to be done."

"Oh."

Akashi places his hand on Furihata’s knee. The weight is warm and surprisingly familiar considering the short time they’ve been dating. And there are still a lot of things that Kouki doesn’t know about Seijuurou, still a lot of things he’s just finding out about now. But Akashi doesn’t hold it against him, and though that might have made him nervous once it’s now quite the opposite. 

And now the worksheet doesn’t seem so daunting. 

* * *

 

339\. Peaches (Seto Kentarou/Momoi Satsuki)

He passes a fruit stand on the way home from the train station; the peaches look ripe and juicy and he can’t help but think of her eyes and mouth and hair and hips and he buys a whole bag. She’ll get mad and they probably won’t end up eating them all, but he can afford it so it’s not much of an issue and it will be worth it.

The juice spills from her mouth and down her chin as she lightly scolds him, but she’s smiling and isn’t trying to hide how little she means it. She whispers a thanks when he wraps her in his arms and kisses the nectar from her skin and tastes it on her mouth. He will not sleep enough tonight, but it’s a small price to pay and slips his mind almost completely—he’s too busy enjoying her words and her body and the smell of peaches that clings to them tonight, heavy and ripe.

* * *

340\. Meet the Parents (Kise Ryouta/Midorima Shintarou) for anon

Kise’s already dashed off to find his father, leaving Midorima alone and totally unprepared to speak with his mother in the living room, half-introduced. Yes, Kise will die a slow and painful death as soon as they get out of here—Midorima does not exactly know how going in for just a second and waiting for Kise to find his other shoe turned into the whole meet-the-parents deal, not that it matters now.

“Oh, it’s so nice to finally meet you, Midorima-kun.”

Midorima hastily bows and when he straightens up Kise’s mother is grinning. The expression is much-reminiscent of her son’s, light but with something else behind it that would probably not do to dwell on too much.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Kise-san.”

She places her hand on his arm and he catches a whiff of her perfume, strong and fruity.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t bring anything for you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. We have too much stuff already, and I’m sure Ryouta sprung this on you last-minute.”

What should he say now? Is this some sort of trap? As angry as he is with Kise, he can’t badmouth him in front of his parents.

“Oh, don’t look so nervous, dear—”

At least Kise picks the right moment to reappear. “Dad, this is Midorimacchi.”

“So you’re this boy Ryouta’s been talking our ears off about?”

Kise should at least try to look embarrassed; Midorima’s ears and face are heating up and he just wants to sink into the floor right now. Again he bows.

“It’s nice to meet you; I’m Midorima.”

Kise’s dad nods his head. “All right. You seem fine; have fun on your date; I’d say don’t do anything too impressive or Ryouta won’t shut up about it but he’ll talk for hours about your breathing so just be safe.”

Midorima feels his face grow hotter, but at least this time Kise blushes, too.

“Dad…”

“What? He’s your boyfriend; he should know you like him by now.”

“He really does talk about you all the time,” says Kise’s mother. “I know more about your life than I do about his.”

“Let’s go, Midorimacchi, we’re going to miss our reservation.”

It’s a good thing that Kise’s dragging him off because he probably wouldn’t be able to move his feet on his own

* * *

 

341\. Thunderstorms (Hayama Kotarou/Hanamiya Makoto) for unlikehisname

Makoto swears and stuffs his hands deeper into his pockets. Of course on the day he actually brings himself to go all-out and take Kotarou to the festival, it pours and thunders. It looks like the sky is pissing or something; it’s not a pleasant rain; the festival is sure to be cancelled.

“Mako-chan, Mako-chan! Let’s make a blanket fort!”

Kotarou hugs him from behind; he’s unprepared and begins to choke. As he coughs and catches his breath, eyes watering, he manages to swear a few more times.

“No.”

“But it’s so fun, Mako-chan.”

“So shut up and do it.”

“Fine.”

Makoto sighs and sits down in the window seat. Lightning flashes again. This weather fucking sucks. He turns back to Kotarou, who’s pulling all the throw blankets and the pillows off the couch. His parents would be mad, but they never use the second parlor anyway, so the maids will probably get there first. How old is Kotarou, anyway?

He pulls out his phone to check the weather; it’s supposed to keep pouring all evening. Fuck. Well, maybe the festival website has something. He types away on his phone keyboard, steadfastly ignoring Kotarou.

“Mako-chan!”

“Shut up.”

Ugh. The thunder rumbles again; the website loads—it’s canceled completely.

Kotarou tugs on his shirt.

“What?”

“I finished the fort.”

“And?”

“Let’s go inside and do naughty things.”

“It looks uncomfortable.”

“I put lots of blankets and pillows inside. Please? Please, Mako-chan?”

“Fine, I’ll look at your damn fort.”

Kotarou practically pushes him through a blanket, and kneeling on the floor it’s actually quite roomy, dark and comfortable. Kotarou touches him on the wrist (when did he even get in?) and Makoto pulls him down on top of him.

“Are we doing something naughty?”

“Only if you shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

* * *

342\. Petals (Nebuya Eikichi/Mibuchi Reo) for anon

He’s always got dirt on his hands and a smile on his face, picks up ten bags of soil at once and cheerfully hauls it to the back room at just the right angle for Reo to admire his bare, muscled arms. He’s cocky but he knows his stuff, the scientific name of every flower and what kind of light it needs and how much water and what kind of soil, rattles it off the top of his head like a pro. Just watching him talk, late afternoon sunshine gleaming off the sweat on his neck and the way his large hands move through the air, makes Reo wish those large hands were on his waist and that grinning mouth was against his.

He always stares too long and Eikichi turns and sees him; he brushes off the customer and saunters over and greets Reo with a bruising kiss and knots their hands together. He always smells like that bottled plant food and fresh soil and herbs and sweat, and for some reason it’s the opposite of disgusting; it makes Reo want to bury his face in Eikichi’s chest and rub his nose into his sweaty t-shirt and at the same time tell him how dirty and disgusting he is.

“You got soil on my clean pants.”

“You know where I work.”

“Wash your hands before you touch me.”

“Seemed like you enjoyed it to me.”

He is so damn infuriating.

* * *

 

343\. Body (Aomine Daiki/Murasakibara Atsushi) for anon

God, his legs are so long; when he spreads them it feels like his hands will never reach Murasakibara’s knees, like he could run his fingers down those firm inner thighs forever and listen to those raw moans and whines forever—and maybe, just maybe, he could; maybe he could feel the taut muscle beneath his fingers that dips and dents the way a fully-inflated basketball does, very nearly not at all. Hell, he could feel the long fingers and solid palms on his back (alone they cover his shoulders and all of his upper back) moving lazily the way they always do and never get tired of that alone. Murasakibara’s voice in his ear, the vibration of his throat as Aomine kisses it, finding the rough spots he missed shaving, the way he flexes his chest—he’s so fucking perfect, abs that flinch away from ghosting breaths as he cries out and bucks his hips and tucks his legs up, the look of anguish mixed with pure ecstasy on his face, the feel of the friction of their cocks rubbing together between Aomine’s hands.The pace is almost always sloppy and rough, but it’s exactly how they like it, unpredictable enough to keep them both interested.

When Aomine enters him Murasakibara bites down, on the inside of his lip and the side of his neck and his shoulder and his collarbone, and even though he starts out trying to ease himself in he ends up going too fast and too hard and reveling in the tightness of Murasakibara around him and the sound of his shrieks into the air. They fuck like animals sometimes, too rough and hard until they almost keel over, exhausted and covered in sweat and come. Aomine slides out of Murasakibara and kisses him, snuggling down into his arms as they both fall asleep, messy but warm and happy.

* * *

 

344\. Stargazing (Aomine Daiki/Midorima Shintarou) for huongyukapham

It’s easier in the dark, to just reach out and feel for Midorima’s hand and grasp it; he squeezes back harder than he does in the daylight or inside, less self-conscious of the unseen. He leans closer to Aomine; Aomine can feel the heat from his shoulder through his thin t-shirt and from his bare arm. There are so many things he wants to say right now but they haven’t had any time like this lately, time to just sit and enjoy being in the presence of each other. As it is, he can’t believe he’s managed to pull Midorima away from studying this willingly for this long, just to sit in his back yard and squint up at the faint glow of the stars. Living in the city sucks sometimes; most of the stars are invisible or faded out here when in a small town or a suburb or the mountains or somewhere else the constellations would stretch out above them and surround them like a dome of fireflies. Here, the haze and the rooftops are in the way—has Midorima ever seen a clear rural sky? He doesn’t seem like the type of guy to go out of his way to get out of the city, comfortable where he is for the most part, always focused on what’s in front of him and rarely stopping to enjoy the scenery. 

 

"Let’s go camping sometime."

 

"What?"

 

"Camping. You, me, a tent."

 

It’s hard to tell in the dark but he’s probably wrinkling his nose.

 

"You can see more stars out in the country."

 

Midorima sighs and leans on Aomine’s shoulder.

 

"When would this be?"

 

"Whenever." He waves his free hand.

 

"If I’m not too busy with my studies."

 

That’s a hell of a lot closer to a yes than Aomine had counted on. 

* * *

345\. Field Trip (Nijimura Shuuzou/Kuroko Tetsuya) for doyoulikecoffee

"Would it be all right if I took my kindergarten class to see your flower shop some time next week?" 

 

"Uh."

 

"We’re doing a unit on plants, and I thought they might like some…hands-on experience."

 

"Hands-on, yeah. That’d be good."

 

Damn his mouth. It’s moving before he can stop it, bypassing his impulse control—it’s a fucking miracle he hasn’t said anything too regrettable yet, although given enough time and the proper environment he could probably make up some kind of excuse. How is he going to handle being around Kuroko and be able to demonstrate things for the children? How will he be able to form complete sentences?

 

"Nijimura-san?"

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Could you give me a preview? I’d like to be able to assist you in any way possible."

 

"With, ah, what? What were you planning to do with them?"

 

"Is there anything that needs to be transplanted? I want to show them about growth."

 

"Yeah."

 

Tearing his eyes away from Kuroko is hard but it’s a relief when he finally does; he catches his breath as he grabs a new pot and some soil and a random flower—it doesn’t look ready yet, but it’s close enough.

 

"So, uh, put a little dirt in the pot."

 

Kuroko shakes the bag, barely covering the plastic bottom.

 

"A little more."

 

"Could you show me just about how much?"

 

He’s got to be doing this on purpose—their hands touch as Kuroko gives him the soil and the contact is too lingering, too uncomfortable; Kuroko’s piercing blue eyes stay on his for way too long. 

 

"Thank you, Nijimura-san."

 

"No problem."

 

Yeah, this field trip is going to probably be the death of him.

* * *

346\. In the Library (Miyaji Kiyoshi/Himuro Tatsuya) for anon

Shit. Of all the days to absolutely need a book from the library, this has got to be the worst. Half the books are checked out or off the shelves and he’s had ample time to search for this particular one—he can make excuses for himself all he wants, but he could have checked it out a week ago and still had it now. But the first day of study period is pure chaos in the library and he has to push through these stupid freshman brats (he was nowhere near this shitty last year; he just got his books and left instead of chatting loudly in the poetry section). There are a number of possible sections it could be in and Miyaji frankly doesn’t have the patience to wait in line for a library computer to look it up. It might be shorter overall, but he doesn’t want to feel useless.

 

The book is in the second section he looks in; at least it’s still there and he doesn’t have to deal with too many people. He makes his way over to his usual spot; it’s noisier than usual today but still far more desirable a study location than his dorm room. Unfortunately, someone is already there at his table, and as he nears he realizes that it’s an incredibly beautiful person. Which doesn’t matter because this person is sitting at Miyaji’s table with his (it’s a guy, right?) crap strewn all around.

 

The person looks up; he’s got hair artfully placed over one eye (damn kids these days with their stupid emo hairdos that take five hours to gel into place) and his face is even more striking from this angle.

 

"Ah, would you like to sit here?"

 

He has on such a fucking fake smile; Miyaji wants to punch it off him—it’s beautiful but it’s uncanny and creepy at the same time. Miyaji scowls.

 

"Yeah."

 

He clears it all off, other than the books for whatever the fuck he’s doing (not like Miyaji cares anyway), and Miyaji sets down his backpack and opens his book. 

 

"It’s a pleasure to meet you; I’m Himuro."

 

If he wanted to exchange greetings, he should have done it before. Did no one teach this kid manners? Well, he might as well return the greeting—only because he’s got manners of his own.

 

"I’m Miyaji."

 

Damn, it’s hard to look away from that face. Only because he hasn’t dropped the smile yet, not because he’s captivating or anything.

* * *

 

347\. Duel (Miyaji Kiyoshi/Takao Kazunari) for anon

For a second he thinks Kazunari’s going to haul off and punch him, but he doesn’t.

“You’re an idiot,” he says, and he’s looking at the ground and his voice cracks and then right there Kiyoshi feels like he’s about to rip in half.

Kazunari looks up, eyes shining with unshed tears and mouth pursed, and he flings his arms around Kiyoshi tightly; Kiyoshi’s about to reflexively shove him off but he holds him closer instead.

“What am I going to do if you die?”

“Hey, dumbass, I’m not going to die. I fight every day, remember?”

“So does he.”

Kazunari’s hands are clenched in the back of Kiyoshi’s shirt and his voice is slightly muffled by Kiyoshi’s chest.

“And what if you kill him? In the heat of the moment, by accident? I don’t want that to happen, either.”

“The hell does it matter to you? I don’t want to be a killer, but you don’t need to give a damn about my soul.”

“It matters because I love you! Think about other people before you rush into things and challenge people like that Hayama guy to duels! How do you think I’m going to feel if you die? Or if you kill him? Do you think I’m going to be happy? Or just shrug it off and act like nothing happened?”

He’s breathing hard, pulling wildly on Kiyoshi’s shirt; his cheeks are blotchy and it’s painful to look at; Kiyoshi’s insides are a tangled mess. He waits a few seconds for Kazunari’s breathing to slow and his eyes to clear, and then cups his chin. Kazunari looks up and holds his gaze.

“Listen. I’m going to be fine tomorrow, okay? I’m going to win and no one is going to die and we’ll celebrate after.”

Kazunari reaches out for Kiyoshi’s other hand and entwines their fingers. Kiyoshi kisses him on the forehead and then hugs him closer again for a brief moment.

“Thank you.”

It’s soft, but Kazunari clearly hears it; his lips turn up at the corners and he squeezes Kiyoshi’s hand.

* * *

 

348\. Thunder (Nijimura Shuuzou/Furihata Kouki) for jynxiii

The small book shop is dark and musty but quiet; it will do nicely as a temporary shelter from the passing thunderstorm outside. Shuuzou runs a hand through his damp hair as Kouki peers around the narrow aisle directly ahead. Shuuzou doesn’t particularly enjoy reading or get any sort of nostalgic feeling from browsing through bookshelves but watching Kouki come to life when he’s around books is fascinating. There’s a whole different light in his face and he forgets to be self-conscious he’s so absorbed in finding or reading or explaining a story.

He tugs on Shuuzou’s hand and leads him down, scanning the shelves for something or other intently. Kouki stops short, pursing his lips in front of a shelf and then moving back and tilting his head up to look at the higher shelves.

“Shuuzou-san?”

“Hmm?”

“Could you get that green one down for me?”

It’s on the second shelf, just within Shuuzou’s reach but far out of Kouki’s. He pulls it out and presses it into Kouki’s hands, stealing a quick kiss that makes Kouki almost drop it and flush a deep red.

“Sorry,” says Shuuzou, grinning.

“You don’t mean that.”

Damn, is he cute.

* * *

 

349\. Recruitment (Kirisaki Daiichi) for anon

The idea comes to him the morning after they’ve been knocked out, brutally so, by Rakuzan. Half of the pieces are in place, but Makoto’s never thought of it as a big picture before—but the quick succession of events has jolted him into waking up. This is going to be great. He’salready done with his math exam and so he doodles in the margins, torn ligaments and bruised organs and terrified faces. Assembling a team of accomplices will be relatively simple, especially once he disposes of the incompetent coach and the stupid first-string brown-nosers. Hara will stay; he’s been quite helpful already, but they need three others.

(-)

The first presents himself in the very next period when he trips up a girl so he can get a clear view of her panties. Even if he’s a terrible liar he’s got a good poker face and the will to cause chaos. Makoto texts Hara under the table to find out if he knows anything about this guy—Makoto has barely bothered to learn the names of his teachers let alone his classmates, and it’s coming back to bite him now. Apparently his name is Furuhashi and as far as Hara knows he’s never played basketball before. It’s a surprise considering how tall he is and how coordinated his movements are, but that’s secondary. They’ll have months to learn how to dribble.

(-)

Furuhashi’s only joining because he’s curious, but the reason doesn’t really matter in the scheme of things. Unfortunately, he’s as much of an idiot as Hara is; instead of helping Makoto find their fourth and fifth members or organizing the paperwork or being useful in any way, they’re making snide remarks about their classmates and making conjectures about how big a magnet they’d need to scramble the school’s vending machines. The farther they get down the hallway the more Makoto clenches his fists. He’s about to turn around and yell at them to knock it off and help him or get lost when his eardrums almost shatter from someone else’s yelling right nearby.

A boy with messy orange hair is shaking another person who looks like he’s passed out in the middle of the hallway—it can only be Seto Kentarou. Well, fuck.

Seto doesn’t even bother to try to pay attention in class, always falling asleep at his desk and finishing his tests in five minutes with marks that are perfect or near-perfect every time. He’s Makoto’s only competition for top rank in the school and he does it without trying. Beating people like that isn’t as fun as grinning over some hard-working kid who stays up all night and still doesn’t get anywhere near him. Makoto wants to join the other kid in shaking Seto but then he pauses.

In addition to being his near-equal intellectually, Seto’s also a head taller than Makoto is. And with an intellect like that…and maybe he can use this other kid, too; he looks dumb but he’s not afraid to play rough.

Makoto grabs both Hara and Furuhashi and pulls them over to the other two boys as Seto rubs his eyes.

“You two. Have you ever played basketball before?”

“Yeah, I did a little in middle school; why?” says Messy-Hair.

“Good. Consider this an invitation to join the team.”

“I’ve never played before,” says Seto.

“You’ll learn,” says Makoto.

“Hey,” says Messy-Hair, squinting. “Aren’t you one of the uncrowned—”

“Yeah,” says Makoto, waving his hand. “I’m also the coach starting tomorrow.”

“How long are the games? I don’t want to have to stay awake for, like, an hour.”

“Only stupid coaches force any of their players to go a whole game,” says Makoto. “You can sleep when you’re not playing.”

“Okay,” says Seto. “We’ll both do it.”

“Hey, you can’t decide for me!”

“You were going to say yes, anyway.”

“Fine.” Messy-Hair crosses his arms.

This is actually a better start than he’d hoped for.

* * *

 

350\. Morning After (Akashi Seijuurou/Furihata Kouki) for anon

The first thing he notices about this room is how much light there is in the morning; it streams through windows on two of the four sides—it must face east and…south? North? Northeast and southeast? Either way, it’s flooded with more light than Furihata’s tiny bedroom ever gets, even artificially.

But of course, Akashi will only ever have the best—and if he wants light he will get it, although it seems a shame that he’s sleeping through it right now, breaths even and arm stretched out across his stomach. He looks much less than superhuman, much less than dangerous, rather like a fierce cat napping in a sunbeam.

But he’s not Furihata’s fierce cat. Last night had been fabulous, but there was an air of finality about it, as if they were tying up loose ends from the times they’d met in high school, getting all of their feelings out. And besides, even if both of them had desired—do desire—to continue things, it’s not feasible. Akashi is from a whole different world than he is, must return to that world. Perhaps a different man would be stronger, would bridge the gap, but Furihata would really rather not.

He gathers his clothes and firmly turns his head toward the door; the light is not so blinding there. He feels what might be a gaze of strong red eyes on his back but does not turn, and if he is awake Akashi does not speak.

* * *

 

351\. I'm In (Imayoshi Shouichi/Momoi Satsuki) for anon

She barely glances at the cards in her hands, instead furrowing her brow and looking at his hands, for the way they twitch and move—she’s good, but not good enough; he waits for her blinks and the slides of her gaze to fake her out and move his hands in the wrong direction. She thinks she’s catching him but it couldn’t be further from the truth.

She raises her bid and he meets it nonchalantly, draping his free hand on the table. She’s not completely sure where to look and he uses that to his advantage, trying to distract her and make her second- and third-guess herself.

Her eyes narrow; she tosses her hair over her shoulder and for a second almost bleeds her hand but he can’t catch more than a glimpse of red. Is she baiting him? No, it looks unintentional but he can’t be too sure. Well, if she’s just going to think he might as well watch her even though he already knows the eventual conclusion of her thought process. The intensity sparking behind her eyes is something to behold—she truly is one-of-a-kind.

She concedes two bids after that, most likely to just try and see her accuracy without digging herself into too much of a hole. This takes him aback a bit—she’s got so much gusto that he’d assumed she would just start playing hardball. She frowns at his collection of cards, trying to gather something from it.

“I guess I’m no match for you.”

“You’ve exceeded my expectations.”

She snorts. “Please don’t lower them just for me.”

“On the contrary, you make me keep raising them.”

She studies his face carefully but can’t completely mask the proud smile tugging at her lips.

“I’ll deal this time,” she declares, tugging the deck from his hand gently but perhaps keeping skin-to-skin contact a bit longer than necessary.

It’s the perfect opportunity for him to steal a kiss from her; she huffs and almost drops the deck on the table afterward but she doesn’t even bother trying to hide her expression.

* * *

352\. Book Signing (Aomine Daiki/Midorima Shintarou) for anon

They’ve finally reached the end of the autograph line; there’s only one more book to sign and one more set of empty pleasantries to exchange; the previous person departs, clutching her book to her chest and the last one steps up. Midorima blinks. This can’t be right.

He cocks an eyebrow at Midorima, pulling out a hardcover from under his arm. The smoothness of his movement, the way his short hair is slightly ruffled, the very slight quirk of his mouth—it’s him. This is Suzuki Hatori, _Total_ ’s main villain, exactly as Midorima had imagined him, the man who’s been a vague outline dancing in Midorima’s head for too long, finally fleshed out completely—the piercing blue eyes and the set of his shoulders, the way he constantly shifts his weight from one leg to the other, the incline of his wrists. Midorima is jolted out of his reverie only when the man nearly slams a copy of _Total_ onto the table. His eyes are flicking back and forth as if he’s trying to read Midorima, as if he sees something strange about him—Midorima almost swears under his breath, catching himself just in time. It’s too quiet here; this person will hear him if he says anything and think he’s even weirder than he already does. Midorima finishes signing his name and pushes the book back across the table.

He lets his hand linger too long on the spine; their hands touch and the shock is more than static electricity. He feels it, too; his eyes meet Midorima’s and they fall still, barely breathing. This is an entirely different kind of feeling than the rightness of following Oha-Asa, it’s a fate that’s inevitable in a different way. But what can he say? What should he say? It seems predestined but he doesn’t know what comes next, what words are fated to fall from his lips, and the man turns away.

“Wait.”

He turns back, something like half-relief (it’s not a trick of the light) on his face.

“We’ve…met before, haven’t we?”

He rubs his neck, exactly the way he hadn’t been able to describe Suzuki doing (and even seeing it right in front of him he still can’t really find the words; the part of his mind that’s still in writer mode is screaming at the rest of him).

“I think so, yeah.”

The last of the other autograph-seekers have gathered their things and left; a few employees are gathered, most likely to take down the table and put away the chairs whenever he leaves.

“Do you have time for coffee?”

He nods, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets and grinning. Something inside of Midorima constricts; he’s been chasing that grin through his dreams and through ink and paper and screens for so long now that it hardly seems real—but it’s never been this vivid or this right.

* * *

 

353\. First Date (Miyaji Kiyoshi/Aida Riko) for konomika

Miyaji sighs and lets out a puff of air, blowing the piece of hair in front of his face to the side. Getting here early was a bad idea; it only gives him time to make himself more nervous. How awkward is this going to be? They’ll have enough to talk about; he’s not worried about that—but she’s so much smarter than him, intimidatingly so. While it’s nice to know who she is behind that in-game avatar, it’s also daunting to know just how smart and accomplished she is. What’s she doing even giving a guy like him a chance? He’s got decent grades and is a damn good basketball player, but he’s not some prodigy like she is. He sighs, bouncing on his heels.

“Miyaji-kun?”

He’d forgotten how short she is; both of them have to crane their necks to look properly at each other. Even from this angle, though, she’s really cute (yet another reason why she’s out of his league—not that he’s ugly, but she’s surrounded by all those fit Seirin boys all day). What is he supposed to say in situations like this? What had Ootsubo told him?

“Aida-san. You look nice.”

He almost scowls and then remembers that Kimura had underlined it on the list of things not to do five times; he’s probably making such an awkward expression right now but she doesn’t look pissed off at least.

“Thank you,” she says.

“Should we, uh, head in, then?”

She nods; for a fleeting moment she looks almost disappointed. The ramen joint is dark but roomy inside; so far it looks like he’s made a good choice. It’s not crowded but they’re far from the only other diners there. The hostess brings them over to their seats and hands them menus and then they’re on their own again.

“Have you been here before?”

“Nah, but my friend says it’s really good. They do something special to the broth or something.”

She nods distractedly, already lost in the menu. He stares at his; he’s already pretty sure what he wants.

“So did you get the jewel yet?”

“Huh?”

“You were telling me the other day about the new Ruby Quest, the 76th level?”

“Oh, yeah. It was apparently in the fortress but underground, like in some secret level where you had to tap the shovel twice on top of the right grass tile in the courtyard.”

“How did you find that one?”

“I thought I’d dig around in the courtyard to see if I’d missed any power ups.”

She sips her water and nods. “I’m still not sure whether or not I want to get that one…it seems like such a time suck.”

“Yeah, it totally is,” he says. “I have to limit myself to two hours every day and even then…”

She smiles and he has to keep his jaw from dropping at how gorgeous it looks, and everything he was thinking about Ruby Quest flies out the window because all he can focus on is the curve of her shoulder and the breadth of her mouth.

* * *

 

354\. Takeout (Murasakibara Atsushi/Mibuchi Reo) for anon

Reo spoils Atsushi more than perhaps he ought to, but Atsushi wants to be spoiled and spoken for and doted on sometimes, wants fingers stroking his hair and someone asking what’s wrong and he’ll let Reo feed him sitting beside each other on the narrow park bench with takeout, opens his mouth for another dumpling and bites it off Reo’s chopsticks.

Atsushi kisses him open-mouthed; he tastes of the cheap and greasy food mixed with his constant undertone of honey. His soft touches on the undersides of Reo’s wrists are very deliberate and his smile is genuine.

“Let’s stay here for a while,” says Reo.

Atsushi nods. The quiet settles over them nicely like secure mosquito netting and neither lets go of the other.

* * *

355\. Bad Night (Miyaji Kiyoshi/Himuro Tatsuya) for anon

Well, this takes the fucking cake. He’s been dragged to the party, forced to drive his friends, hasn’t had anything to take the edge off because he has to drive back, smells like booze anyway because some drunk dumbass slipped and dropped what smells like a mix of gin and tequila and coconut rum on top of him, texted Yoshii that he was leaving and got a response that they already left, and now some cop is writing him a parking ticket. Fuck. He aced parallel parking; there’s no hydrant in sight.

“The hell’s the matter with my parking job?”

The cop turns around and sneers at him.

“What’s not the matter with it?”

“Um, everything? Are you just, like, fulfilling your ticket quota or something? Because this has been a shitty night for me, so could you pick someone else?”

“Have you been drinking? I can smell it on you.”

“Someone spilled his goddamn drink on me.”

“That’s what they all say,” says the cop, flipping over his pad and beginning a new ticket. “Your penalty will be reduced for not actually driving, but you had clear intent to do so.”

Miyaji rears back; cop or no this guy needs to be taught a lesson—but then he finds he can’t move forward. Someone’s holding him back.

“There you are; I just went to get you a new set of clothes and you bolted on me. I’m so sorry, Officer.”

The voice is familiar but he can’t turn around to see the face.

“Who might you be?” says the cop.

“His boyfriend.”

What now? Miyaji is about to protest but—why the hell not? He’s in deep shit and he might as well have this guy stick around as a witness to his actually good parking job.

“That so?”

The guy reaches down and squeezes his hand. “Aren’t you, Kiyoshi-chan?”

Miyaji almost gags, glaring at the guy. It’s that annoying American kouhai from university, Himuro, the one who’s better than him at basketball and who’s always stealing his library table. Some nerve he has.

The guy grins at the cop. “He’s so shy.”

“Shy? He was about to deck me. I could write him up for police brutality.”

Himuro squeezes his hand hard; Miyaji sighs.

“Shut up, Tatsu. Do you have the clothes or not?”

“Are those even your names?”

“What motivation would I have for helping a random stranger?” says Himuro, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. Miyaji does the same and they hand them over.

The cop glares at their IDs.

“I guess it’s fine if you drive,” he says, pointing to Himuro.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets and walk away. Miyaji sighs. He’s still in smelly clothes, stuck with this guy he now owes a favor (and they may or may not actually be dating)—but at least he’s not alone and he’s not in trouble with the law, so he’ll probably break even. And hell, Himuro’s actually pretty damn attractive—not that Miyaji’s ever going to let him know he thinks that, because it might go to the damn kid’s head.

* * *

 

356\. Be Closer (Murasakibara Atsushi/Aomine Daiki) for anon

Murasakibara flips the page of his manga and Aomine scowls.

“You read too fast. Let me enjoy the panty shot.”

“Pervert.”

“You’re reading it, too.”

Murasakibara shrugs and turns the page again. Aomine sighs and leans his head against Murasakibara’s shoulder. Murasakibara continues reading, way too fast to properly enjoy the cute manga girls (or to even really be reading—he’s got to just be glancing at the pictures or some shit). He reaches the end of the chapter and sets the magazine aside; Aomine gives him a questioning glance. Murasakibara pulls Aomine roughly into his lap.

“Oi, Murasakibara—what the fuck are you doing?”

“You looked like you wanted to be closer,” he says, picking up the magazine again.

Aomine settles into his lap; it actually is kind of comfortable despite Murasakibara being all muscle and bone. Murasakibara’s arms around his torso are snug and he’s getting kind of used to this whole feeling-small thing; he’s missed the first five pages of the next series (it’s mecha anyway, so no hot girls) but there are more important things than nice angles and panty shots right now. Like his bare feet brushing against Murasakibara’s, the way Murasakibara’s humming under his breath, how tired he is, and the fingers on Murasakibara’s free hand interlocking with his. Yeah, it’s pretty nice like this.

* * *

 

357\. Show You How (Aida Riko/Hayama Kotarou) for anon

This is embarrassing. She’s the daughter of a world-class athlete who’s grown up a gym rat; she’s coordinated and very well acquainted with her center of gravity. She should be able to stand on a goddamn skateboard, but she can’t, almost squeaking and jumping off each time before even five seconds are up.

“I’ll hold your hand, Riko-chan.”

“No,” she growls. “I’ll do it myself.”

Kotarou shrugs and stands aside; she climbs on again, knees wobbling and arms outstretched as she attempts to get her balance. She bends her knees and manages to steady the swaying, and then the board begins to move. She tries to copy the way she’s seen him pump his leg to gather speed but ends up tripping and sprawling out on the concrete. He’s at her side immediately, holding her scraped-up hands in his and staring into her face.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

“Only my pride.”

He’s brushing the gravel out of the scrapes; she winces and he pulls her closer.

“It hurts there, doesn’t it?”

“I’m fine.”

He kisses each palm; his lips tickle uncomfortably but when he looks up there’s an obvious sincerity in his eyes.

She sighs. Maybe it would be better to let him hold her hand this time, but only for a bit. She pulls herself to her feet and then pulls him up, too.

“I want to give it another go.”

“Can I hold you this time?”

“Maybe.”

He grins and throws an arm around her shoulders as they walk off to retrieve the skateboard. It’s hard to be mad at him, even when she’s feeling this frustrated.

* * *

358\. Passionate (Yamazaki Hiroshi/Hara Kazuya) for anon

Hara’s tongue is lolling in Yamazaki’s mouth; his powerful jaws are moving erratically as if he wants to eat Yamazaki’s teeth off or something and it should be kind of weird and gross, but it’s somehow not, maybe because Yamazaki’s eyes are shut so he can’t see Hara’s face in front of his and maybe because he can’t focus on it because of how drunk off his ass he is and how overstimulated he feels and maybe because Hara’s grinding his narrow hips into Yamazaki’s, almost bruisingly hard.

“I love you; I love you,” Hara’s words are teasing and singsong, and Yamazaki doesn’t know whether to believe them or not so he just pushes Hara roughly down on the mattress. Hara’s head clunks against the wall and he runs his hand up Yamazaki’s chest, nails scraping against the skin, enough to peel it back but not draw blood (but it still fucking hurts). Yamazaki hisses and grinds back against him.

Hara tastes like whipped cream vodka, sickeningly sweet, and Yamazaki doesn’t know if it’s the saccharine taste or the alcohol that’s making the tip of his tongue numb and it doesn’t matter because Hara’s sliding his tongue out of Yamazaki’s mouth and trailing a line down Yamazaki’s chest, ripping the buttons off his shirt (he’s probably got enough of his bearings to be able to unbutton them; he just doesn’t want to). Yamazaki moans appreciatively, trying to wriggle out of his jeans. Hara cuts to the chase and unbuttons Yamazaki’s fly and pulls out his cock, covering it with his mouth. The wet warmth only drives him wilder, spiking his arousal as he tries to spread his legs wider, hampered by the tightness of his jeans. He fists his hands in Hara’s hair, tugging as Hara runs his tongue along the shaft, stopping and swirling around the head—god, he’s such a tease, never quite settling into a rhythm, changing it up and slowing it down constantly when he wants faster, faster.

“Hurry the fuck up.”

“Do you want to go in dry?”

Yamazaki rolls his eyes, or tries to, anyway. “Are we really doing that tonight?”

“What’s the matter? Don’t want to fuck me?”

Hara strokes Yamazaki’s already-leaking cock, brushing his knuckles against the shaft.

“Ugh. Not right now. Come here.”

Surprisingly, Hara obeys, and Yamazaki kisses him softly, holding back Hara’s aggressive tongue for a few seconds before he gives in. Hara’s hands are all over his back, scratching again (it’s a miracle he hasn’t gotten a scar yet) and his body is warm against Yamazaki’s. Yamazaki fumbles with his waistband and pulls out Hara’s cock, spits into his hand and starts jerking him off. Hara spasms and whines into Yamazaki’s mouth, digging his nails further into Yamazaki’s back. Yamazaki slows his strokes and Hara bucks his hips harder, trying to keep the pace. Yamazaki lets go and then fists both of their cocks together; he’s closer and he’s going to come first but he can never enjoy Hara’s face when he comes properly if he’s still too focused on himself.

* * *

359\. Cuddling Session (Seto Kentarou/Hanamiya Makoto/Furuhashi Koujirou) for anon

Furuhashi’s a bad liar and he’s an even worse actor—even with his hair in his face in the hazy post-sex atmosphere Seto can tell Furuhashi’s not really asleep. At least he’s settling into Seto’s arms for a change (it’s about goddamn time). Hanamiya’s wrapped around both of them, faking like he doesn’t know what he’s doing—sometimes Seto wonders how the hell he got stuck with these two, who stubbornly refuse to be affectionate unless they’re pretending it’s an accident when no one with an IQ of over 2 would actually believe it. Does that kind of thing really give them peace of mind?

They’re so impossible but they’re still cute like this; if he had a free hand Seto would totally reach out and poke Furuhashi’s cheek right now and if he could reach he’d kiss Hanamiya on the forehead. They’d both get mad but it would be so worth it; it almost always is (besides, he’ll juts fall asleep as they yell at him again because that’s what always happens). And speaking of sleep, they’re all getting toward that point, so Seto pulls both of them closer and closes his eyes. They make no attempts at resisting and a satisfied smirk makes its way onto his face as he drifts off.


	7. July and August

360\. Beholder (fem!Mibuchi Reo/male!Momoi Satsuki) for anon

Satsuki loves basketball in a completely different way from Reo; he's interested in the stats and the projection and the math of it; he has zero interest in holding a ball in his hands or the feel of his feet pounding the court—but he does appreciate the beauty of the trajectory of a shot, the way it flies off of a player's fingertips and into the hoop. He smiles at his clipboard and pushes up the sleeves of that grimy sweatshirt, but he can't hide the thrill in his eyes nor does he even try to.

He's made his own peace with his lack of athletic skill and that's admirable in and of itself—even if it did start out as him just chasing his childhood friend, he's grown to love the sport on his own. She tries to teach him to shoot but he laughs her off; he's got the theory and the timing down but the ball just thuds against the backboard when he tosses it at the hoop. He lets her stand there with his arms around him, leans back against her chest (he's comfortable with Reo being that much taller than him—not that Reo would settle for less) and tilts his chin up to kiss her neck.

He tells her that being an athlete does not make her any less of a woman—sometimes she hates how he can almost see right through her and find her insecurities so easily, but most of the time it's reassuring in an odd sort of way. Perhaps he has an odd perspective, but in a way it matches up with hers, complements it perfectly—and that's what she likes best about him.

361\. Sleepy (Himuro Tatsuya/Miyaji Kiyoshi) for anon

Miyaji leans back and sighs. He's already pretty damn tired but the work won't do itself and there's a test tomorrow—if he stops now the stuff he was just about to go over is going to end up as a fundamental section on the test (because that's how it always goes) so he might as well get to these last ten pages now rather than get up before it's light outside.

There's a knock at the door—well, maybe; half the time he thinks it's there and it's just the rattling of the old door against the frame. It comes again.

"The door's unlocked."

The knob turns and the door opens; it's that Himuro kid again, half-asleep and clutching his pillow. He'd seemed like he could take care of himself, but then again even the toughest brats are still brats.

"I don't have time to hear about your nightmares, kid. I got a test tomorrow."

He yawns. "It's not that. My roommate kicked me out."

"Why, snoring too loud?"

"His girlfriend's over."

And this is one of the many reasons Miyaji is insanely glad to have scored a single this year. "After you're asleep? Seems like a dick move to me, kid. You should have stayed and cockblocked."

He shrugs. "I'd rather not."

He's got that awful fake smile on again.

"Out with it; I don't have all night."

"Can I sleep on your floor?"

"I'm working right now."

Himuro blinks. "No one else answered the door."

Probably all drinking and were afraid it was an official or something. Typical. Miyaji sighs.

"Fine. And take the bed; I can't be stepping all over you."

"Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah."

Himuro settles in and Miyaji skims through the final ten pages (he can read them again at breakfast), slamming the book shut. Himuro's watching him through a half-closed visible eye and Miyaji glares at him before he turns off the light and locks the door. (That's kind of creepy, isn't it, staring?) He's already wearing his pajamas so he plops down on the bed next to Himuro.

"Move over, brat."

"Miyaji-san, that's quite…forward of you."

"Don't act like you didn't plan this, kid."

Himuro smirks against his neck (when did his lips get that close? Why isn't Miyaji pushing him away?) and Miyaji sighs again. At least it's comfortable like this.

362\. A Night of Stargazing (Hyuuga Junpei/Izuki Shun) for anon

Even in the dark he can't evade Izuki; he never could. It's always seemed unfair, as if Izuki had stolen his eyesight (his got worse as Izuki's seemed to get better all throughout elementary school) but it's no use complaining at this stage of the game when far worse fates could have befallen him. Hyuuga flops back on the grass and stares up at the sky; Izuki settles down next to him a few seconds later.

"Hey, Hyuuga."

"What?"

"You've always played a starring role in my life."

Hyuuga elbows him in the side. "Go away and take those lame one-liners with you."

"You're blushing."

"It's too dark to see that, idiot." Even with his eyesight—and even if Hyuuga was blushing.

Izuki curls against his side, kicking at his ankle with a bare foot.

"You're cute, Hyuuga."

"Shut up. That wasn't even a pun."

Izuki hums; his breath tickles Hyuuga's neck. Hyuuga sighs.

"You're impossible."

He rubs Izuki's back as he says it, fingers tracing light circles that Izuki still reacts to through the fabric of his t-shirt. He looks even prettier than usual with the faint light from the moon and stars and Hyuuga's porch on his face, not that Hyuuga will tell him. He doesn't want him to get a swelled head or anything.

363\. Play Date (Kirisaki Daiichi) for anon

It's just like them to all show up uninvited like this and cause trouble—they're never up to anything good, but at least in school it's amusing and on the court it's productive. At his house it's annoying at best and infuriating at worst, and Makoto's patience is wearing very thin right now. He wants to flop on his bed in misery but Kentarou's already sprawled out across it and taking up nearly the whole thing, arms and legs spread out.

"Will somebody help me move him?"

Hara leans back in Makoto's chair. "What's your wi-fi password?"

"I'll tell you if you help me push him off."

"Really?"

"Of course not; I wouldn't fall for that. You'll just use it to download porn."

"How could you imagine me doing such a thing?" Hara flings his arms out dramatically.

Makoto sighs.

"Anyway," says Hara, "is that your diary Furuhashi's reading?"

"I don't have a diary," Makoto snaps as his head whips around.

"Hey! Put that down and stop reading!"

"I wasn't reading," says Furuhashi, dropping the book on the floor. "I think Yamazaki spilled chip crumbs on it or something."

"That is so your diary."

"Shut up, Hara! And don't read things that don't belong to you."

He jabs Furuhashi in the chest.

Furuhashi just stares down at him. "I said I wasn't reading it."

Makoto glares and clenches his fists, grabbing the book from the floor. Arguing with Furuhashi is like arguing with a brick wall; it's a complete waste of time especially when Kentarou still won't move and Hara's trying to hack into the wi-fi.

"Where the fuck is Yamazaki?"

"I'm over here."

Yamazaki reaches into his bag of chips, dropping crumbs all over Makoto's game controller. Makoto throws the book at him.

"Stop messing with my things, all of you!"

"Hey, Furuhashi, see if you can find his porn collection."

Hara's lucky he has good reflexes.

364\. Late (Miyaji Kiyoshi/Himuro Tatsuya) for anon

He lets loose a stream of miscellaneous curses from his mouth as he grabs his keys, wallet, books, bag, shoes; he throws on a sweater and a dirty pair of jeans from the floor and grabs his coat. There's no time to take a shower or even grab breakfast; he might have time to review those last few pages before class but he'd meant to get up half an hour earlier. Hadn't he set his alarm? As he slams the door behind him he realizes he doesn't have his phone on him, and there's no time now to go back and get it. And Himuro's still half-asleep on his floor; Miyaji doesn't really trust him (the reasons not to are numerous) but he can always replace most of his stuff (well, except for his collector's edition idol group fan, but that's hidden very safely away and Himuro doesn't seem like he's into that kind of thing) and he'd rather pay to do that than miss this test. It's really fucking important.

(-)

He doesn't want to jinx it, but he feels pretty good about the test—everything that had been on it he'd studied. He's got several hours before his next class, so there's time to get back to his room and fix everything up properly, maybe even take a shower or a well-deserved nap.

The brat is back on his bed, buried beneath the comforter. Didn't he used to live in, like, Akita?

"What the hell are you still doing here?"

Himuro rolls over, bleary-eyed, and answers him in English.

"Don't try to impress me by being bilingual."

Himuro blinks. "Sorry. I don't have class today."

"I'm sure your roommate and his girlfriend are out of the room."

Himuro blinks again. "Join me?"

This innocent-kid act is really getting on Miyaji's nerves. On the other hand, Himuro was warm last night and he'd really rather not waste his precious time arguing when he could be napping. He kicks off his shoes and throws his sweater and shirt onto the floor, crawling into bed behind Himuro and pulling the comforter over both of them. He finds his phone and sets the alarm for two hours in the future, and then another one for ten minutes after that for good measure. Before he can set a third, Himuro tosses the phone out of his hand and places Miyaji's arm around his waist.

"Goddamn brat."

"Mm."

At least he's more eco-friendly than a space heater.

365\. First Sleepover (Miyaji Kiyoshi/Takao Kazunari) for uneplumesombre

It's become a routine, meeting in the darkness of the late winter evening by the gate when Takao gets out of basketball practice and the librarian makes Miyaji stop studying for the day because they're closing; the orange glow of the streetlights flickers over their faces as Miyaji pulls Takao in for a quick kiss and stuffs entwined hands into his coat pocket and then they begin to walk.

Today Miyaji pulls Takao in the opposite direction from where they usually go, away from Takao's house and toward his own.

"My parents are out tonight."

Takao looks up at him; his nose is already red from the cold but his cheeks are flushing too fast for it to be an effect of the weather. Miyaji grins.

Takao squeezes his hand, and they're far enough away from the lamppost to be almost completely in the dark, so it's fine if he kisses him right here. Takao kisses back half-sloppy and overenthusiastic, even more so than usual, and they're both grinning into each other's mouths.

(-)

They take everything slowly tonight because they can, because no one's about to walk in on them; it's nice to not be crushed by enclosed space or short time, to actually enjoy each other's bodies for all they're worth. Takao is gorgeous, and Miyaji rarely articulates or appreciates that to its full extent, the firmness of his muscle and the litheness of his limbs and his sheer agility are astounding, even like this.

They fall asleep together, Takao curled up like a cat in Miyaji's arms, the smile on his face almost serene (if Miyaji didn't know any better). He fits, they fit, perfectly like this, arm against waist and head against chest, content at last.

366\. Sleepover (fem!Murasakibara Atsushi/fem!Himuro Tatsuya) for leonast

"Muro-chin, I'm bored."

Himuro looks up from her notebook. "Do you want to study with me, then?"

Atsuko closes the door behind her and shuffles to the bed.

"I've studied enough today; I want to sleep."

"So why don't you go to bed, then?"

"I want to sleep with Muro-chin."

For a fraction of a second, Himuro's visible eye widens. "That's bold of you, Atsuko."

She flops down onto the bed next to Himuro, grinning. "Are you thinking about dirty things?"

Himuro shrugs, flipping over the next page. "Maybe."

Atsuko pushes her down against the bed; Himuro struggles against her grip but Atsuko's too damn strong. She licks a path down Himuro's neck; Himuro squirms and bites back a moan. Atsuko's pinning Himuro down with her legs and one arm; her free hand is roaming up and down Himuro's torso way too freely.

"I thought you were tired."

Atsuko pauses, having unbuttoned the second button on Himuro's shirt and slipped her hand inside; the feeling of skin against her bare stomach makes Himuro shiver.

"Yeah."

She releases Himuro and lies down next to her, pulling the covers over them both.

Himuro slides out of bed to go turn out the light—Atsuko's so capricious, but somehow it's fine like this. She's not all that hot and bothered right now, anyway (and besides, Atsuko's got plenty of time to change her mind and it's not as if they don't have the morning), and sliding back into bed and into her strong arms and burying her head in Atsuko's chest feels so…nice.

"Goodnight, Muro-chin."

"Night, Atsuko."

Yeah, she could get used to this pretty quickly.

367\. First Kiss (Miyaji Kiyoshi/Himuro Tatsuya) for anon

He shouldn't have lifted his damn head up so much when he knew Himuro was right next to him, and okay, he might have wanted to see his face up close, but he should have known better anyway because the moment he looks up Himuro's lips are on his.

They're soft and warm and wet and the sensation is not totally unpleasant—but it's sure as hell unwelcome and Miyaji wants to break it and run Himuro the fuck over because he didn't give him any warning but Himuro's tongue slides in his mouth and he realizes that while he's been plotting the brat's demise he's taken another mile and fuck, of course he can do that with his tongue.

368\. First Kiss (Hayama Kotarou/Miyaji Kiyoshi) for anon

He is such a fucking brat, thinking he's cute with that smile when he's just way too grabby and Miyaji's too tired to keep pushing away his hands at this points and lets him hold them but leaves them limp, lets the kid drag him around to wherever the fuck he wants to go against his better judgment, tunes out that goddamn annoying voice.

"Miyaji-san, Miyaji-san!"

And then Hayama's in his face again, yanking at his hands and peppering him with too many stupid questions and he just won't shut up and Miyaji has no idea what's going on and doesn't want to, just wants to be able to catch his breath and hear himself think and Hayama's lips, blurred in the motion, become a focal point and before he knows what he's doing he leans in and places his mouth over Hayama's.

He sure as hell shuts up quickly when he wants to.

369\. Domination Games (Imayoshi Shouichi/Hanamiya Makoto) for anon

Their game is delicious and Shouichi finally concedes—not because he'd naturally lose but because he's interested and because he doesn't feel like pushing Makoto more than he has to; it's easy to cede the illusion of control and let Makoto run free—Shouichi tells him often how good his ideas are; Makoto's the one who doubts his sincerity (for such a clever boy he can be awfully stupid sometimes).

The scarves are chafing his wrists but the pain is delicious and very, very worth it; Makoto is going agonizingly slow, tearing his nails into Shouichi's skin and pressing kisses and bites on top; Shouichi shudders and moans and Makoto's eyes flick back and forth from his face to his body. Shouichi spreads his legs, acting more eager than he really is; the slowness is lovely and allows the heat to build inside him, allows him to fully enjoy Makoto's touch.

"Greedy," hisses Makoto, pausing in his touches to look up at Shouichi's face again.

"Please—"

Makoto catches the teasing lilt of his voice and glares, gritting his teeth.

"Stop that."

He pins Shouichi's shoulders to the bed and kisses him bruisingly, with all the anger and pleasure he can muster. It's hard to push Makoto to this point, to where he can show his true self, his true ruthlessness, but it's like this that he's the most beautiful, when his bites draw blood in Shouichi's mouth to overpower the taste of Makoto's tongue and his fingers leave streaks on Shouichi's skin and he wrenches the flow of control from Shouichi's grasp.

370\. At Play (Hayama Kotarou/Miyaji Kiyoshi) for anon

It's hot in the sun; all the shady benches have been taken by the wise parents and nannies out with their children. Kiyoshi sighs and wipes the sweat off his neck. Kotarou had insisted and their son had clung to him and here they are—what kind of family outing is this? He's kind of awkward in situations like this; he doesn't really want to play in the sandbox with them and they look like they're having lots of fun without him; he doesn't really need to watch them, either—as childish as Kotarou can be he's actually quite responsible and careful with the kid. It's cute seeing them like this, though, even if it's from far away.

Kiyoshi sighs, clising his eyes and stretching out. He should have brought a newspaper or something.

"Kiyoshi!"

And Kotarou's in his face; a matching set of snaggletoothed grins stare up at him and he smiles back.

"Hey, you two. Having fun?"

"We'd have more with you," says Kotarou, depositing their son on his lap and sitting down on the bench next to him, looping his arm through Kiyoshi's.

"Play with us next time, okay?" The kid stares up at him. "Please?"

"Sure thing, Kiddo," he says.

It's too hot to be this close but he lets them anyway. It can't hurt just this once.

371\. Your Quiet (Liu Wei/Fukui Kensuke) for anon

It's better when Fukui shuts up—occasionally he'll have something interesting or important to say but that's such a small percentage of the words that pass through his lips that it might as well be zero; it's pure coincidence at this point. When he's quiet, when they're walking through the hall together or they exchange glances across the room or when Liu's tongue is down Fukui's throat or when they're sitting together and studying (well, before Fukui decides to start talking again about his latest brilliant plan) or when they're playing basketball and Fukui throws Liu a perfect alley-oop pass—those are the best moments. It's hard to tell him to just shut up; it never works and then he goes off on a tangent about how Liu is a disrespectful kouhai, but he's been better lately about getting Liu's hints and they've spent considerably more time without talking. It's probably the best it's ever going to get, and Liu's okay with that.

372\. In Death (Kagami Taiga/Himuro Tatsuya) for anon

The room is too quiet, stale like old bread that's been left in a plastic bag for a week and the sound of his own breathing and of the machines bounces off the walls and amplifies back in Taiga's ears. Tatsuya lies still on the bed; even in death he is incredibly beautiful—even when they're about to harvest his organs and pull the plug he looks as if his eyes could flutter open and he could smile warm and open at Taiga once again, a smile that has only begun to grace his lips again lately, that Taiga hasn't seen very often since they were kids. It's not fair; it's not fair that death pulls Tatsuya away from him almost as soon as he's gotten Tatsuya back from his inner demons; it's not fair that he looks so real and alive; it's not fair that Taiga never got a proper chance at goodbye, that he'd left him with but a kiss on the cheek before his flight to the next city for a road game, that it had been nearly a week since they saw each other.

He is wearing the necklace still; they left it on him, the ring at the end of the tarnished chain, and it's almost too painful to look at. This is it; this is the final goodbye—Tatsuya's parents had arranged it with the hospital staff to wait until he arrived; there's not much time. The silence makes it even more dreamlike; he almost convinces himself that there was no brain aneurysm and that Tatsuya's going to be okay. He strokes the soft black hair with one hand; Tatsuya does not stir.

"Tatsuya…" his voice is too loud in this room. He needs to get out—but no, he needs to stay, with Tatsuya.

He leans down to press a kiss on the cool forehead. There isn't time to re-memorize all the contours of his body, to see it all one more time.

"I'm sorry." His voice cracks. "And I forgive you."

For leaving the bread box open, for being late, for being selfish, for hating himself so fiercely for so long, for dying—Taiga knows himself too well to say he won't be mad about this again but for now there is no room inside of him for anger.

"I love you so much."

373\. Each Kiss (Nijimura Shuuzou/Himuro Tatsuya) for anon

Their first kiss is passionate and loving, burning with longing and desire, the slow sizzle in the summer heat like the air visible above the astroturf of the soccer field, shimmering; their fingers are loosely entwined and their lips fit perfectly against each other, even with the strange way Shuu's mouth curls up at the end. They pull back at the same time and their eyes meet and then their mouths come back together; they fit like cogs in a well-oiled machine, Shuu's body against his.

There are many kisses after that, lips brushing across bruised cheeks and knuckles and pressed against ears and necks; sometimes Shuu kisses him so hard and long Tatsuya thinks his mouth is getting raw but it only makes him want to kiss Shuu back more, kiss him until they're both sore and their mouths are broken, connect their bodies somehow until they explode. There are quiet kisses under stars and basketball hoops in the park, quick ones when they duck under a doorframe in school, Tatsuya's mouth pressing up against Shuu's shoulder when he's asleep, Shuu kissing him awake in the morning before either of them can properly register the grossness of their morning breath.

And then there is the last kiss; Tatsuya's in line for airport security and his feet are bare on the airport carpet because he forgot his socks and he constantly shifts his weight; there's something vulnerable, a different kind of rawness, on Shuu's usually-angry face and he reaches out his hand; it weighs down like an ocean on Tatsuya's shoulder. Their farewell is wordless and Shuu's soft lips pressing against his forehead are cruelly sweet.

374\. Expectation (Hayama Kotarou/fem!Miyaji Kiyoshi) for anon

"You can go grocery shopping by yourself. It's a simple task; you've done it before."

"But I want to go with Kiyomi-san."

"Why? Shopping isn't a damn group activity."

"Don't swear, Kiyomi-san. The baby can hear you."

"Shut the fuck up. It's not like the kid can understand and it's not like its first word's going to be a swear or anything."

She tries to gather her hair off her neck but all she gets is Kotarou shoving himself against her side.

"Please? I want to spend time with you."

"We can spend time together later, after you've gotten the groceries."

"Why can't we get them together?"

"Because I look like a fucking whale and I can't walk fast enough and I look fucking weird when I do it and I'm too damn tired."

"You look beautiful," Kotarou says. "You're pregnant so you're supposed to look different and it's good, not that you didn't look gorgeous before, and we can take as long as you need to and spend more time together."

"You're supposed to tell me I glow or something."

"Kiyomi-san always glows."

She pushes herself off the couch into an awkward standing position, envying the easy way Kotarou pops up. "Is that a yes?"

"No, Idiot. I have to pee. It's a maybe."

Speaking of glowing, he looks absolutely overjoyed.

375\. Space Fighters (Imayoshi Shouichi/Hanamiya Makoto) for crimsontentacles

"You could make more money if you bothered to fix your damn ship and be a real pirate," Makoto grumbles.

Shouichi pulls him closer and smirks. One of these days he'll tell Makoto he's taking pay cuts and skimping on repairs just so they can stay close to each other—the look on Makoto's face will be so worth it.

376\. Lazy (Akashi Seijuurou/Himuro Tatsuya) for redbikeprince

It's six or somewhere close to that; Seijuurou can make a good estimate from the evening light but there's no clock in view and his phone is in his backpack in the kitchen. It would be nice if it was a bomb that blew up all of their homework and then he'd have a legitimate excuse (somehow Tatsuya always manages to smooth things over with the teachers; it must be his sleepy prettiness that complements the slouch in his walk so well). They're only half-dressed still; all this messing around in bed hasn't really gotten anywhere but what's the fun in actually reaching your destination when there are so many lovely distractions along the way?

Tatsuya runs his fingers up Seijuurou's rib cage and Seijuurou sighs; Tatsuya's fingertips are bliss, cool and always probing at Seijuurou's most sensitive spots. He has a gift for that sort of thing; Seijuurou would tell him but his mouth is too busy responding to the touches. This angle of the near-dusk sunlight makes the shadows of Tatsuya's lashes on his cheek seem larger and longer than ever, like some kind of grey birthmark or something. He feels Tatsuya's phone vibrate against his leg; Tatsuya sighs and reaches down to silence it and then throws it across the room.

"Probably my coach yelling at me for skipping practice."

Yes, Tatsuya plays basketball; he's gotten some lovely lean muscles out of it even if he skips practice a lot because at this point he's probably never going to be good enough to break the starting lineup; sometimes Seijuurou wonders how good he'd have gotten if he'd worked at it from day one—but this musing never really gets past the realization that he and Seijuurou probably wouldn't have met if that had been the case. And this Tatsuya, the one he has in front of him, the one whose slim fingers are playing with the waistband of his jeans, the one who certainly isn't flawless but whose flaws fit comfortably enough around Seijuurou that he doesn't feel like moving.

377\. Convention (Furuhashi Koujirou/Aida Riko) for anon

He'd somehow convinced her to do a group Ouran High School Host Club cosplay except there's no one in the group except for them and it's never going to work with just a Haruhi and a Hikaru. Besides, he's only using Hikaru as a disguise to make fun of her chest size and as the day wears on her patience grows thinner. He tries to kiss her in front of a bunch of fangirls and she knees him in the nuts instead (the picture ends up going viral and it serves him right).

378\. Demons (Haizaki Shougo/Kise Ryouta) for uneplumesombre

Shougo's horns scrape his palms but Ryouta holds on tighter anyway. it's not like he can hold onto Shougo's hair like this and he can't get a good grip on the skin of his face. Besides, it's easier to pull his head down closer and steal a kiss when Shougos distracted by the pressure of Ryouta's hands.

379\. Zombie Apocalypse (Midorima Shintarou/Kise Ryouta) for anon

Midorima's aim is always true; Kise fires faster but with less accuracy; together they are invincible, and Kise has no fear. After all, if they get him Midorima will make sure his suffering ends soon, shoot him straight through the head. But in the way Midorima squeezes his hand, tight enough to break it, Kise can see he's trying to convince himself that that day will never come.

380\. Freak Show (Murasakibara Atsushi/Kuroko Tetsuya) for anon

They're both freaks and they pretend not to mind; after all this is the only way they can make a living. It strikes Kuroko that Murasakibara's too smart for a job like this and is criminally underestimated, but what he's saving his knowledge for is yet unknown. Every night Murasakibara pulls him into his massive arms and Kuroko buries his face in Murasakibara's firm chest and refuses to accept the answer even when he can't ignore it.

381\. Lawyers (Haizaki Shougo/Momoi Satsuki) for anon

"I'm beginning to think you're making mistakes in the contracts just so I can find them, Haizaki-kun," Momoi says.

Her smile is deadly; she can pull the floor out from under him with her intellect and mesmerize him with one flip of her hair. It doesn't occur to him that he hasn't replied until she gives him a dismissive wave and walks off.

382\. Loveless (Imayoshi Shouichi/Hanamiya Makoto) for anon

Makoto looks even cuter without the extra set of ears distracting from his gorgeous face. Shouichi pushes back a lock of hair from Makoto's face and he stirs in his sleep, inhaling sharply. No matter how cute he is he's still a fighter and the reflexes always kick in—they're both doomed to a life of fighting but sometimes it doesn't seem too terrible.

383\. Hospital (Nijimura Shuuzou/Haizaki Shougo) for anon

Haizaki somehow always manages to bum a smoke off of someone, even after Nijimura's taken all of the cigarettes hidden in his pocket. It pisses him off that Haizaki's deliberately flouting his authority and that he's doing this to himself and that it's against the hospital rules in the first place (doctors should practice what they preach after all), and sometimes he wonders why he cares so much. Then Haizaki gives him a genuine smile and the hammering of his heart is too loud to ignore.

384\. Car (Midorima Shintarou/Murasakibara Atsushi) for anon

"No, Takao, it's not you, it's Haizaki. I know him too well to trust him anywhere near my car. Even you can't prevent 'unfortunate accidents'," Midorima says, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Please, Shin-chan? I want to take him out properly and I can't rent a car."

"Go somewhere within walking distance."

"Please?"  
It's very hard to say no to Takao like this. But his car is his most prized possession, his favorite means of transport, and he'd really rather have Haizaki not scratch it up or leave his crap in the glove compartment (or break open the glove compartment to stick his crap in there).

"Could I come with you?"

Takao squints at him. It's true that Midorima doesn't like Haizaki very much and usually goes out of his way to avoid spending time with him. But the car is frankly more important.

"Like a double date?"

"Yes." It leaves his mouth before he can really think this through, and by the time Takao leaves, happy, he realizes he's in deep shit. Who is he supposed to ask? Who would even say yes to him? He's aware he's not much fun, and though he has a few friends most of them are already in relationships. The only one who isn't is Murasakibara and while Midorima definitely used to feel that way about him, it was back in middle school, and he has no idea whether Murasakibara ever reciprocated his feelings. On the other hand, he's usually not one to turn down a free meal, especially at a nice restaurant downtown.

(-)

He'd neglected to mention that it was a double date, but Takao's mentioned it enough times to make Murasakibara give Midorima a look that he's not sure he likes. At least Takao is talking with Haizaki now and they're left to their own devices in the front seat.

"I didn't know you felt that way about me, Mido-chin."

"I, uh." Shit.

Murasakibara laughs. Is he teasing him?

They reach the restaurant with no further mishaps, and a quick inspection of the car reveals that Haizaki hasn't done anything to it yet. Takao and Haizaki are holding hands and Midorima feels very awkward, conscious of the physical distance between himself and Murasakibara. Are they supposed to be acting like a couple? Then Murasakibara swoops in to break the silence.

"Hey, Mido-chin did you read that new book, _Desert Lacquer_?"

"Yes. I didn't think it was very well-written, but the plot was interesting."

"Hmm. I liked it," he declares.

The rest of dinner is quite pleasant, arguing over books while Tkao nd Haizaki do their own thing—it's like they're in their own little world, almost. Murasakibara doesn't even eat his usual gargantuan amount, and Midorima can feel the heat from his knee under the table.

When they finish, Haizaki grabs Takao and says that they're going off to his apartment; Midorima never remembered it being so close but at least they've got the car to themselves. And as he's getting lost in thought Murasakibara tugs on his hand.

"Mido-chin?"

"What?"

Murasakibara plants a kiss on his mouth, squeezing his hand tighter.

"Thanks for the date. I had fun."

385\. Victorian (Miyaji Kiyoshi/Takao Kazunari) for anon

Miyaji's country house is old and in a state of disrepair, but there are advantages to that. Like being able to block off the door to the secret room and steal a kiss or two or twenty while the guests on the other side of the thin wall gossip about trivial things. And it means that everyone avoids the attic where they spend their nights among the dust and the moonlight and each other.

386\. Brothel (Hara Kazuya/Furuhashi Koujirou) for anon

Yamazaki tells him his regular customer looks like a dead fish and Hara laughs and files it away somewhere in his brain. Truthfully, as off-putting as he is Furuhashi couldn't be more businesslike; he doesn't ask to be told pretty lies about how much Hara wants him, just rides him and bites his tongue. Insulting him probably won't get more than a raised eyebrow, but Hara does it anyway; he's pleasantly surprised when Furuhashi flips him the bird.

387\. Assassins (Nijimura Shuuzou/Himuro Tatsuya) for anon

There's nothing more beautiful than Tatsuya's knife flying through the air and then disappearing somehow before hitting its target right-on; it's the kind of sleight-of-hand that Shuuzou's never had the patience to learn. He uses brute force to take out his prey, well-placed fists and short-range cuts that send blood flying everywhere. Tatsuya doesn't mind the mess, though; he'll kiss the spattered blood off of Shuuzou's lips before they can clean up.

388\. Gang (Aomine Daiki/Haizaki Shougo) for anon

Haizaki does dumb shit sometimes but they all do; he seems to have worse luck and a shittier attitude, that's all. But it's up to the gang to take care of its own and Aomine finds himself cleaning off dried blood from Haizaki's skin and dressing his wounds and treating his bruises while Haizaki weakly tries to argue. Usually he shuts up if Aomine kisses him enough, though.

389\. Magicians (Alexandra Garcia/Aida Riko) for anon

Alex is so much bigger, both physically and with her stage presence; it's hard even for someone as confident as Riko to not be a little bit intimidated. It's a bit harder to doubt herself when Alex's minty breath is so close to her ear and Alex's arm seems permanently attached to her waist and Alex picks her up and lets Riko wrap her legs around her waist. This is no illusion, no trick, no sleight of hand; Riko knows too much about the business to not know one when she sees it—this is real.

390\. Swimming (Izuki Shun/Hyuuga Junpei) for anon

"Come on, Hyuuga, I know you want to be…deep in me."

"You did not just make a swimming sex pun."

"But you're not turned off," says Izuki, swaying his hips against Hyuuga's for emphasis.

391\. Ghouls (Imayoshi Shouichi/Hanamiya Makoto) for anon

"Mako-chan, stop struggling against your ghoul side."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Shouichi could prove his point, but there's no point in bothering when it's so obvious Makoto's lying so he opts to wrap his arms around him instead (the reaction's always better).

392\. Gone (Kuroko Tetsuya/Momoi Satsuki) for nagitagtgt

Just because she saw it coming doesn't make it any better. It might just make it worse, the way the last few months of their relationship were plagued and poisoned by the spectre of death, the inevitable end. What was she supposed to say? What was she supposed to do? As with everything about him, her experience and data were useless. But this wasn't a thrilling free-fall; it was a sickening crash because her parachute had failed to open.

"Satsuki-san, please," he had whispered, mouth dry from the tubes that were stuck down his throat half the time.

She had cried anyway, cries still as his ashes dissipate in the wind.

393\. Should Have Had (Momoi Satsuki/Midorima Shintarou) for didsw

He's waiting by the gate when she runs up to him, breath visible in the autumn air, cheeks rosy and a smile on her face.

"Midorin!"

She hugs him around the waist; her face barely reaches his chest and she'd probably try and kiss him more often if the difference in their heights wasn't so large. Even so, she grabs on his jacket and pulls him down closer; he obliges and ducks and their lips meet. She tastes, as she usually does, of black tea and honey; her mouth is wet and warm and very pleasant. After a few seconds she pulls away.

"Your school should really have a uniform with ties. It would make things easier."

He smooths out the wrinkles from where her hand grabbed his jacket. It would definitely be neater if they did, but he's quite fond of the gakuran. He offers her his hand.

"Shall we go?"

She nods. Her face is bright and it's almost impossible not to smile back at her sometimes; her happiness is infectious and he doesn't even mind too much. It's a lot less vexing when you're not trying to stop it, anyway.

394\. Insecurity (Izuki Shun/Kuroko Tetsuya) for anon

He's changed since the Winter Cup; he changed during it—there's no way for Izuki to even make a pun out of this. It just feels weak and uninspired. Whatever hope he'd had of winning Kuroko over, faint as it was (and sometimes Kuroko's words, shy smiles, soft steps, had been enough to make him feel like fainting) seems to have vanished. Kuroko seems far more keen than he did even before on hanging out with the other freshmen, on improving his game with them and with Coach, on reestablishing a connection with Ogiwara. Any spare attention he might have had for Izuki seems unavailable, locked away. It's been months since he was the only one who could see Kuroko in the shadows regularly; now he can unmask his presence at will and Izuki is irrelevant.

"Izuki-senpai? Is something wrong?"

Kuroko notices these things, too; he's oblivious to the things Izuki wants him to do and hits on the sensitive points he's trying to hide; Kuroko's that way with everyone (and Izuki, still, is not special).

Izuki shrugs. "Just cold, I guess."

The winter is bitter, and more than just a bit. The wind chafes at his skin and his sisters have stolen all of his scarves and his throat is dry and raw.

"Here," says Kuroko, pulling out a fuzzy green scarf from his coat pocket. It seems too large to have fit in there, but he wraps it around both of them.

He's gotten taller, still noticeably shorter than Izuki but tall enough so that it's not awkward to wrap the scarf around both of their necks and walk. He can't break the spell and ask the meaning of this gesture, but he'll look on the bright side this time. After all, the sun is making itself known, out from behind a building, and Kuroko is looking up at him with that know-everything grin and it's hard not to catch it and smile himself.

395\. Theirs (Aomine Daiki/Murasakibara Atsushi) for anon

The apartment is always quiet when Aomine comes home; it's a welcome relief from the bustle of the police station and the walk home through the streets between the station and his home, crowded and loud even in the dead of winter. But up here on the eleventh floor they're insulated by the bricks and the removal; up here it sometimes feels almost ethereal—and that's when he knows he's had too long of a day. There isn't much about a small one-bedroom rental that's out of this world, and it's actually pretty homey.

It's only that way because they've made it theirs, though, and thinking about that makes Aomine smile as he deposits his jacket in the closet. They pay the rent all on their own with the money they make from their jobs and while saving up some money for a real home is taking forever they always have a little bit left over at the end of the month, even despite Atsushi's eating habits. This place is theirs and they're here together and that's what makes it perfect and very much a part of this world, thank you very much, because everything about this is real.

With that in mind Aomine strolls into the bedroom to find Atsushi napping on the bed, curled up with an open book in front of him. That's usually how Aomine finds him, asleep on the bed or the couch, tired from his long day and too bored to wait up much longer. Aomine sits down on the bed next to him, stroking his hair. Atsushi stirs, long limbs coming slightly untangled and unfurling like springs when the tension begins to ease up. He blinks up at Aomine and then grins, reaching out to clutch Aomine's hand in his own (which dwarfs Aomine's).

"Welcome home."

"I'm home," Aomine murmurs.

Atsushi's thumb strokes across the back of his hand, a soft touch like the one he must use on pastry dough—it's astounding to think that such large, clumsy fingers (his writing is worse than a doctor's) can create such intricate things and touch so delicately. But perhaps he should have stopped being surprised by anything pertaining to Atsushi long ago.

396\. Mindblowing (Miyaji Kiyoshi/fem!Hayama Kotarou) for anon

God, she is too much for him—too loud (damn kid), too fast, too pushy, and now she's sitting on top of him, pinning his arms to the bed and leaning in really close. His face, no, his entire body is heating up as she purrs his name and slides up his chest—her skirt is hiked up dangerously and if her legs went on any longer—he wants to touch them, wants to press against them and hear her whine; he's at the point where he can't even manage to scold himself for having such lewd thoughts, especially about an annoying person like her.

She finally lets go of his hands and moves bac down again; he struggles into a sitting position. He slides his hands slowly up her thighs and she yelps, clutching at his shirt.

"That feels really good, Miyaji-san…ah…"

He shouldn't be this nervous, punching and poking at her inner thighs, feeling where the slope changes—it's not like they haven't gotten farther than this before but it's always been so sloppy and rushed and for once he doesn't want to be quite as hasty.

She whines, opening her eyes and gazing into his with a faintly petulant stare.

"Just let me take my time, okay?"

"But you've already felt me there before, so I don't see why we just can't—mm,"

She closes her eyes and leans into his neck as he slips a hand into her underwear, still not touching quite the right spot. She squirms and moans; even his neck can't really muffle the sounds.

"Miyaji-san…"

"Be patient."

Her squirming in his lap has not been without its effects and he, too, is beginning to feel the urgency—his hips are moving on their own and he still wants to take it slowly but it's proving more and more difficult to follow his own directions. She's so hot and wet; he slowly inserts a finger inside of her and she whines again, biting his neck.

"More."

"Wait a second."

He adds another finger and this time she moans deep and low, rocking her hips against him. He slides his thumb upwards against her clit. She sighs, tightening her grip around his shoulders even farther.

"Just relax, okay?"

"But it feels so good, Miyaji-san."

Damn it. With her hair messed up and her shirt half-unbuttoned like that, the way she sighs and the closeness of their bodies, he doesn't know how long he can make this last. She clenches around his hand, squirms against him—it's too fucking much. He withdraws his hand.

She glares at him.

"Meanie."

He rolls his eyes, wipes his hand on his pants, and digs around in his pocket for a condom. She huffs and drops off his lap, and a few seconds later begins to play with the button on his jeans. She's too good with her hands, way too good, rubbing him through his clothes and it feels so damn good. Of course, she tires of this soon enough and unzips his pants, pulling his cock out of his underwear, eyes gleaming. (God, her hands are wonderful.)

He fumbles with the condom for a minute before unrolling it properly; her eyes on the action make him fumble even more. Eventually, he gets it on and then she moves back between his legs.

She settles herself slowly, lowering herself down on top of him, tight but not uncomfortable around him. He sighs. Damn, this is nice; he's still relishing the feeling when she begins to jerk her hips forward. They moan together; the friction is amazing and it only spurs her on to ride him harder; she steadies herself at a mind-blowingly fast pace and he can only be led on by her motions. But goddamn it feels so good.

397\. First Date (Nijimura Shuuzou/Himuro Tatsuya) for bunnyhips

It's not a very nice day, wind blowing the constant drizzle into their faces along with the sand and sea spray when they're out on the beach—the one advantage is the lack of people (this is the emptiest Shuuzou's ever seen this beach, and while he's only lived here for a few months during the height of the tourism season that makes the contrast all the more stark—the only ones here besides themselves are a few people fishing) and it shouldn't really be discounted. It's much nicer being alone with Tatsuya; he doesn't have to worry so much about speaking English or even understanding it and he can study Tatsuya as long as he wants to and he can command more of Tatsuya's attention himself. And they can hold hands; Tatsuya's is a welcome warmth against the clammy feeling of the rain and the damp air.

They find a calm spot clear of the amateur fishermen and wade into the water; it's warm lapping at their shins. Tatsuya splashes him and Shuuzou splashes back; soon their soaked to the bone but it's too fun and too funny and too ridiculous that they're playing in the water when it's already raining out. The sound of their laughter echoes across the gentle roll of the waves and the empty grey skies and it only makes them laugh louder.

They stagger out of the surf and realize they have no way of drying off, no towels or drier or change of clothes, and it only makes them laugh harder, lean against each other for support as they resume their walk down the beach. The rain seems lighter, but it might have something to do with how soaked they are rather than an actual change in the weather.

They make out by the pier; Tatsuya leans against one of the mossy supports and pulls Shuuzou flush against him and their tongues and teeth are pressed together and it feels as if their lips might fuse together. Shuuzou's amenable to that, actually—he just about kisses the breath out of Tatsuya and then some, wishes he could go for more; Tatsuya looks even more gorgeous than his ridiculously high baseline with his face flushed and lips parted and eye half-lidded with those gorgeous eyelashes even more prominent.

They're tired and kind of cold as they walk back, so they end up going to Starbucks for lattes and talking about basketball and school and their families and the people around them and whatever comes to mind and something warm and decidedly unrelated to caffeine settles in Shuuzou's stomach. This is a kind of tangible happiness that he hasn't felt in a while, and from the look on Tatsuya's face (and what he knows of Tatsuya) he feels that way, too. He puts his hand on Tatsuya's knee under the table and Tatsuya grins wider than Shuuzou's ever seen and his heart catches in his throat and he silently pleads with whatever powers that be to please make this moment last just a little bit longer.

398\. Mind Games (Hanamiya Makoto/Mibuchi Reo) for anon

There's a certain note in Makoto's voice when he's lying, something he insists isn't there. But if Reo's making it up, then why does Makoto scowl and turn away every time Reo calls him on his lies? Why does he keep trying to slightly mask it in his tone? Why does he throw random lies out there just to see if Reo can catch him? And yet Reo will never tire of the way Makoto pouts his lips and crosses his arms—very childish but endearing and attractive nonetheless. And maybe it's all a ploy to get Reo to kiss him the way he wants to be kissed without asking for it or going for it himself (as if by holding out he has some kind of upper hand) but Reo enjoys it thoroughly, so maybe they both win this way.

399\. Tulips (Mibuchi Reo/Sakurai Ryou)

Ryou paints tulips every morning before breakfast, buys a bouquet every week in the winter and comes home with an obstinate expression to go with it even though Reo's never complained about the cost (they're short on cash but they can spare that much, and in the realm of Ryou's art supplies it's much cheaper than most things anyway). It's nice having bright colors in the dull kitchen, even when they're drooping and shedding at the end of the week (and after all, those are the ones that make the most beautiful paintings, the stark off-white of the kitchen counter against the pinks and reds of the scattered petals).

He sells the paintings for less than they're worth, less than the cost of supplies sometimes, but it's what he can get for them. If Reo was an art dealer—but he's not, and he doesn't know anyone who is; his friends are just as solidly lower-middle-class as he is. Still, there's something about the harsh glow of the artificial light source captured on a winter morning and the cool dawns of late spring casting their deep shadows on the stems and the constant presence of the small vase Ryou keeps the tulips in, something about the different greens that capture the same stems—something that keeps him from giving it up, keeps Reo from even suggesting it, as impractical as it is to continue.

400\. Focusing (Imayoshi Shouichi/Mibuchi Reo/Takao Kazunari) for crimsontentacles

Reo's always had a weakness for delicate-seeming things that really aren't that way at all, well-tempered plastic that shines like glass and the solid inlaid diamonds on a pendant and even people (and as he's grown taller and stronger and smarter more of them seem breakable—not that he would try to do it with his fingers or even with his mind).

Imayoshi fits that description, slender and creeping like a daddy-long-legs, tapered fingers and bony wrists and horrible smile and closed eyes that see right through Reo—so, for that matter, does Takao, small body possessing perhaps more strength than Reo's and eyes keener than they have any right to be. Against one of them Reo would be close to helpless, but with Takao seeing his every movement and Imayoshi almost reading his mind and both of them focusing on him he doesn't stand a chance.

Imayoshi hooks a long arm around his waist (through the thin fabric of his shirt Reo can feel the contours of his muscles) and croons Reo's name softly in his ear and Takao puts a hand on Reo's other shoulder, fingertips grazing Reo's skin, and kisses his neck.

"I'm yours," Reo murmurs (although they probably already know that).

And Imayoshi reaches under his shirt and Takao's lips slide toward his lips and Reo's already so far gone he can barely hold onto them.

401\. Management (Aomine Daiki/Himuro Tatsuya) for partyinwesteros

On the morning of the sixteenth Aomine walks into the office to find an unfamiliar, very beautiful stranger chatting with the receptionist, Nishioka. Aomine raises his eyebrows and Nishioka pauses in the conversation with his guest to gesture toward him.

"Himuro-san, this is one of them."

One of whom? Aomine is a bit wary of being included in some unknown group of people, but nonetheless he bows to the stranger and introduces himself.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Himuro," says the stranger, ghosts of a very polished smile touching his lips. "I'll be your new manager starting today."

Aomine tries very hard to not show his surprise. Come to think of it, they'd been sending him e-mails with something about a new manager in the subject line (he'd just never bothered to read them and assumed they'd been meant for another department). There's nothing more to say to this guy, though (and he's attractive to an off-putting degree) so Aomine bolts to his cubicle. Well, things might get a little bit interesting depending on how often he crosses paths with this Himuro guy.

(-)

All other things aside, Himuro's actually a competent manager (Aomine never remembers the office being this efficient), and although the old manager was fun to talk with in the break room (he was pretty into gravure) Himuro's not hard to approach, either (it helps that he's a huge basketball fan). He's almost overly-friendly (and scanning as many e-mails as he can find that are still in his inbox, he finds out Himuro's from Los Angeles, and Americans are supposed to be like that or something but Aomine didn't know it was actually true) and very touchy-feely, letting his tapered fingers lie on Aomine's shoulder or speaking softly to get nearer to his ear or getting Aomine's attention by grabbing his wrist (and hours later Aomine touches the spaces where his fingers were)—he's like that with everyone, but Aomine might as well enjoy it. It's not often that he gets to spend company around real beautiful people, and he might not be Mai-chan but he's more than good enough.

Or he would be, if he didn't seem to know everything. He smirks at Aomine like he already knows the lewd thoughts Aomine's thinking about him (like those fingers or that tight, round ass on his cock) and he's considering maybe telling someone. As far as Aomine knows he never has, but the possibility, however faint, however much Aomine tells himself to ignore it, is still there. And it keeps him on his toes, makes him notice Himuro all the more—and then he's sucked in again.

Sometimes when he doesn't know anyone's looking, he bites his lip and glances at the wall, as if he's looking far away through it to somewhere else. It looks deeper than homesickness and Aomine wants to get at it, figure it out—Himuro's eyes are dull and his body is tense and it almost hurts (but that would be dumb, however expressive he is). He wants to crack those layers, wants to see Himuro's real smile rather than that fake one he plasters on for all occasions. Hell, he'd settle for consciously getting that sadness because it's real and maybe it's toxic but it's still beautiful as hell.

(-)

He's sly, takes Aomine out for dinner the week of his birthday and Aomine's aware that this is pressing on the borders of their professional relationship but he honestly doesn't give a fuck because before Himuro got there he'd have left as soon as a better job came along (whenever that might happen to be). They end up talking basketball nearly the whole time, not really approaching anything romantic or even any innuendos, but there's still a shaky date-ish atmosphere around them as they walk back. They reach a street corner; there are no cars coming but Aomine stops anyway and presses his mouth to Himuro's quickly. He pulls back and Himuro is looking up at him, wonder flickering across his eyes and his entire face radiating something like surprised happiness, real happiness. He's landed a crack in the façade, maybe not too deep, but it's a damn good start.

 


End file.
